#woven rods

[milkweedman]

I did it ! The last one only took an hour and 45 minutes, which is including fixing mistakes (I don't think ive ever done it without making mistakes. I don't see how you could other than sheer luck and/or incredibly good eyes, since for once muscle memory isn't super helpful--it won't keep me from putting the strand in the wrong slot or two strands into one. Would be cool though. But idk, maybe experts are doing it with no errors and ive just got a lot more years to put in first lol). Took 6.5 hours to do the whole thing, although I took a week in the middle

Now to sley the reeds.

[sorryclarence]

Formal - Traditional Living Room

Inspiration for a massive, enduring, enclosed living room remodel with a traditional fireplace, a stone fireplace, and no television

[cumbersir]

Enclosed Atlanta

Ideas for a large, contemporary, enclosed family room renovation with gray walls, a stone fireplace, a ribbon fireplace, and a wall-mounted television

[hubrishelps]

Beach Style Bedroom - Wallpaper Inspiration for a large coastal guest bedroom remodel with white walls, a dark wood floor, and wallpaper

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part XI (act I)

Word count: 19,894 Warnings: Language, blood/injury, temporary suicide, imprisonment, experimentation, dehumanization, kissing, mentioned gore/eye horror, emotional abuse, fictional racism, discussion of starvation/vomiting, drowning Summary: Tango is forced to finally confront his past at Hels Tek, this time with Jimmy and friends behind him. But he soon finds that there are some battles he must fight alone, the outcome of which will change his life- and the universe- forever.

A/N: Well, here we are. The final chapter of ‘from eden.’ Now ofc, I still have lots more for the HTP au planned, but this is where the ranchers’ main plotline will conclude. Thanks for all the support along the way, it’s been an absolute pleasure to write. For the finale, I wanted to go big, so I did something I haven’t done in this fic before: I switch back and forth between different POVs, and different times via flashbacks. Hopefully it all makes sense.

Also, due to Tumblr’s paragraph limit, I had to split this into two acts again. Link to the second one at the bottom. Hope you enjoy please reblog/comment if you do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part XI (act I) - honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player kneels on the ground with his hands chained behind his back.

He’s instantly recognizable, of course. A blaze hybrid, with pointed black-tipped ears poking out from messy blond hair, dull blaze rods hovering around his temples. His red eyes are downcast, sharp teeth bared in a slight grimace. His face, from what’s visible, is discolored by bloodstains and fresh bruises. An iron collar is still locked around his throat, red light shining out like a solitary eye.

Atlas is gratified to see that they were unable to dismantle his handiwork. He had a feeling they wouldn’t; not if they actually cared about not causing Tango harm.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas grins as he approaches. “Hello, Mr. Tango.”

“That’s close enough.”

Bravo’s voice rings out across the valley. He’s standing beside Tango, sword at the ready. Despite being the one to have extended this invitation in the first place, he’s evidently not taking any chances.

Atlas stops, raising a hand for his convoy to do the same. Separated by a distance of ten or so blocks, he can see just how poorly Bravo seems to be doing; haggard and blood-stained, yet still rife with tension, his wary eyes ringed with dark circles. Clearly, the last couple weeks haven’t been kind to him.

(Of course, Atlas had a hand in that.)

He’s alone, as promised- though Atlas knew that already from the unseen scout he sent ahead ten minutes ago. The place Bravo’s arranged their meeting isn’t where his base lies, that much is certain. It’s a large nether waste biome, lifeless and smoldering, surrounded by steep blackstone cliffs on either side. Probably at least an hour from where Bravo’s been hiding, and where the portal must’ve spawned when Tango arrived.

(Of course Bravo wouldn’t lead Atlas to his front door. He’s too cautious for that. Especially if he’s still protecting that ragged black-winged avian that some of Alisker’s men have reported seeing with him. Atlas is mildly disappointed by his absence. But it’s just as well; he doubts those feathers were in good condition, anyways. Would’ve made for shoddy arrows.)

Bravo’s keen gaze sweeps over Atlas’s assembled company. The two dozen armed thugs would’ve been enough to make anyone hesitate, but the effect is much greater with their small fleet of flying machines hovering overhead. Each ship has a dedicated gunner; a player with a crossbow positioned at the front. Their supply of slowness arrows would efficiently incapacitate anyone attacking from the ground or sky. Just one of the extra security measures Atlas prepared for this trip, to say nothing of what he’s set up back home.

Another such measure was the addition of weighted nets to their arsenal, woven from thick chains and studded with wither rose thorns, to ensnare any mob hybrids or monster players they might encounter. It’s not often that Atlas sees a player so much bigger and stronger than the average, like the massive zombie or the wolf, but he won’t be caught off-guard again. That plus respawn anchors on the ships and chests stocked with potions has left him fairly confident in their chances, should this turn out to be an ambush.

Almost a shame that doesn’t seem to be the case. But as always, he’d rather have such defenses and not need them than need them and not have them.

“Mr. Bravo,” Atlas greets him politely. “I must admit, I was rather surprised that you reached out to me, considering we left on… shall we say, less than friendly terms.”

(A generous way of putting it, to be certain. Their last encounter ended with Bravo killing himself to escape to spawn after Atlas was forced to finally show his hand. He does regret that the circumstances had required him to go against Bravo’s wishes; it would’ve been preferable to keep him as an ally. But when he refused to let them take the avian back to Hels Tek, well, Atlas hadn’t been left with much of a choice. Nor had he when Bravo insisted he wouldn’t help them open another portal. Such is life.)

“Oh, shut up,” Bravo snaps. “I- I’m not in the mood for the fuckin’ small talk, alright? You want Tango, you’ve got him. Now take him and leave me the hell alone.”

“Ah, short-tempered as ever,” Atlas hums. “Very well. However, forgive my prying, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind regaling me with the details of how exactly you came by our friend, here?”

(He can infer certain things well enough from chat, of course. He assumes Tango and that other player, SolidarityGaming, came through the portal first and attempted to make contact with Bravo before the rest of the server showed up. It appears that Bravo killed them all in order to capture Tango, but Atlas would rather hear it from him firsthand.)

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah so, he opened a portal from his end, and tried to… I dunno, reason with me? I guess? He gave me this whole sob story about how he didn’t mean to send me here, apologizing, all that nonsense, but I uh, I don’t buy it.” He scowls down at Tango. “I think he was just tryin’ to win me over, so I’d help him get the key to that collar thingie from you.”

Tango tenses at his words but says nothing, gaze still fixed on the ground before him.

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, looking up at Atlas again, “it wasn’t hard to beat his ass. And his avian buddy who came through after him, I beat his ass, too. They’re shit PVPers.”

Atlas nods sagely. 

(He’d noted a wide variation of skill level amongst the players of Tango’s world, but even the most skilled of them would likely have trouble taking on the average Hels player in one-on-one combat. A group ambush with a large pack of wolves is a rather different thing.)

“Got all the others in a lava trap after the fact,” Bravo says, “but uh, then the avian broke free and tried to stop me, so uh, you know, push came to shove and…”

Atlas gives him a knowing look. “You lost your temper again?”

“None of your damn business,” Bravo hisses, but he looks away as he says it.

“Mmm.” Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “You’re rather fortunate that the bond they shared didn’t transfer to this world, or you would’ve lost Tango as well.” He’d never seen or heard of players sharing health, but then again, he’d never been to worlds outside of Hels before. Whether or not the connection existed off-world was anyone’s guess.

Bravo rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, thanks, I- I figured that out while I was fightin’ them. Give me a little credit, jeeze.”

“Of course.” Atlas inclines his head. “Well, I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Bravo. I suspect you’ll be taking your leave, then?”

“Yeah, I’m leavin’ through their portal,” Bravo says, lifting his chin. “But uh, once I’m gone, I’m gonna break it so- so you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else from that world showin’ up again.”

(A small part of Atlas wonders if the overworld players might’ve done that themselves already. It’d be the smart thing to do, to prevent any unwanted visitors. But he’s also aware that overworld players seem far too sentimental for their own good. If they cared enough to come here after Tango, then they would be loath to eliminate their best chance at finding him again.

No, they would leave that portal open at any cost. Bravo ought to be prepared to fight them in order to break it. But no matter- if he is unsuccessful, and the overworlders come through again, Atlas will find out via chat long before they arrive at his doorstep. He has nothing to worry about in that regard. He would even welcome the addition of a few more hybrid-powered farms. After all, with Tango back, he can once again set his sights on plans for the Phase Two expansion.)

“Excellent,” Atlas says. “Then I suppose that concludes our business.”

“Sure does.” Bravo picks up a foot and plants it squarely against Tango’s back, sending him face-first into the ground. Tango grunts in pain, but remains where he is. “Now, you can have your guys come grab him, okay, but don’t- don’t try anything shifty, alright? I’m not in the mood for another fucking backstab.”

Atlas idly waves a hand, permitting the two guards at his side to move forward. “Oh, no need to concern yourself with that, Mr. Bravo,” he says. “Your usefulness to me has always started and ended with leading me to Tango.”

Bravo’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing as the guards drag Tango away. He simply watches, grip tight around his sword; he’ll likely wait until they’re out of sight before returning to his base, just to be safe.

(His continued caution, while generally wise to have in Hels, is unfounded. Atlas has no further need of him, and there’s no reason to waste any more time or energy going after him. Some of the pettier, more short-sighted residents of Hels would try to get a kill in, just out of spite. But Atlas is quite satisfied to have won in the end, and has no desire for payback. Not when Bravo could so easily become a problem again. No, best to let it end here.)

Tango, for his part, remains silent as well. It’s evident that he took quite a beating; he’s limp in their grasp, head hanging forward, making no movement as he’s brought before Atlas. It’s oddly reminiscent of the last time they were face-to-face back in the overworld. He’d been just as resigned then, and that was before they even put the collar on him.

“Not going to fight, Mr. Tango?” Atlas asks, mock surprise dripping from his voice.

Tango finally lifts his head, glaring weakly up at Atlas. “What’s the point?”

Atlas’s grin sharpens.

(And here lies the beauty of his trap. His real trap, not the one they set for Tango back in the overworld. The trap of the mind. Decades in the making, represented by the still-present cuffs on his wrists, the collar locked around his throat. A broken spirit is a far more effective prison than anything Atlas can build in a lab.)

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he hums, turning towards the ships. “Now, let’s get you home. Farewell, Mr. Bravo,” he adds over his shoulder.

Bravo doesn’t reply, but Atlas can feel his eyes burning into his skull the entire walk back.

~*~

Tango scans his comm with wide eyes, his heart starting to pound.

All the Double Lifers are here. In Hels. Once again, despite his best efforts, his friends have insisted on putting themselves in danger for his sake. He really shouldn’t be surprised. And sure, it’s touching, but it’s also scary as hell. While he might’ve warmed up to the idea of actually letting the people who care about him help solve his problems, that doesn’t mean he wants them traipsing around Hels on their own.

“What is this?” Bravo demands. His gaze darts around the cavern, as if the others are going to appear out of thin air around him. “What’s goin’ on?”

Jimmy inhales through his teeth. “The others must’ve seen that we left and came through the portal after us.”

Tango nods. “Yeah, I- I didn’t get a chance to break it, so-”

“Wait,” Bravo says, “you were gonna break the portal?”

Tango gives him an incredulous look. “Uh, yeah, of course I was gonna break the portal!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I- I wanted to avoid this exact situation, them comin’ here after me, or- or any Hels players goin’ through to Double Life! Breakin’ the portal was the only way.”

Bravo’s eyes narrow. “Are you- that would’ve trapped us here, are you insane?” he hisses. “If you’re here, I can’t open a portal to you. I mean, I- Timmy could’ve done it, instead, but- but you didn’t know he was with me!” He takes a step forward, placing himself between them and Timmy. “Did you even think about that? What did- how were you plannin’ on getting us outta here, huh?”

The sudden suspicion in his voice takes Tango aback. It’s a borderline accusation, almost implying that he came here under false pretenses. As if he could hate Bravo enough to willingly strand himself in Hels forever, just to screw Bravo over.

It’s a very Hels kind of thought.

“Hey, back off!” Jimmy warns, his wings puffing up defensively.

Tango holds his hands up. “Woah, woah, take it easy! I knew the risks, yeah, but I- I figured between the two of us, we could reconstruct a portal and- and then find some random Hels player to use? We’d escape Hels to some random world, wherever their counterpart was, and at that point, our comms would be able to open portals again.” He clears his throat. “I uh, I wasn’t about to let you back into Double Life after everything, okay, but I- I wasn’t gonna let you stay here, either.”

“Oh.” Bravo looks away. The tension leaves him as quickly as it came. “Right, right, sorry.”

Tango exhales slowly. “It’s fine.”

He knows better than to take it as a personal insult; after all, he keenly recalls a time when he used to be paranoid like that, too. When he’d first joined Hermitcraft, he’d second-guessed everything, even though the Hermits had given him absolutely no reason to do so. It was just something ingrained in him from growing up in a world where everyone was out to get him.

Evidently, Bravo’s learned that lesson during his time in Hels, too.

“Uh, guys,” Jimmy interjects, “we should go get ‘em before they get hurt, or- or stray too far from the portal.”

“Right, right.” Tango glances at Bravo. “Uh, can you trigger that dropchute skadoodler from down here? To open the top?”

Bravo nods. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, hang on…” He turns and hits a well-camouflaged deepslate button on the wall. Pistons churn, and the wall opens up into his hidden entrance, a dimly-lit hallway stretching beyond it.

Tango’s abruptly reminded of how he used to hide his own Hels base. “Nice,” he says, before he can help himself. “The uh, secret button thing. Very smart.”

Bravo squints at him for a moment, as if debating whether the compliment was genuine. “Sure,” he finally settles on, before looking over his shoulder at Timmy. “Give a shout if you need anything.” Then he disappears around the corner.

“I’ll send Impulse a message,” Tango says, pulling up his chat. “Jimmy, can you fly up there and get ‘em? They can just drop down through the chute, we’ll put some water down or somethin’ in case they land where the cobwebs have been cleared.”

“Right, good call.” Jimmy presses a quick kiss to Tango’s forehead before turning away. “Back in a flash.”

Wings flaring, he takes off up the dropchute. Tango quickly drafts a whisper to Impulse- just a quick ‘stay put, jimmy otw’- before turning to the pit. He normally doesn’t care much for water, but he’d made sure to bring a bucket with him. Even though he’s not good at the whole MLG bucket clutch thing, he knew it could help in a pinch, and water-containing biomes in Hels are few and far between.

“Oh!” Timmy pipes up. “I have water, too!”

Tango looks over in surprise. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, here, just… fill in where the gaps are, okay?” 

Timmy nods, shuffling over to stand beside Tango as he pulls a water bucket from his inventory.

It really is strange. They have the exact same voice, only Timmy’s is slightly fainter. Like he’s afraid to speak at full volume. He’s also got this nervous, hesitant way of moving- as if Tango’s going to reprimand him for getting too close. Even though he’s not Jimmy, it pulls at Tango’s heartstrings to see someone so similar to the man he loves in such a desperate state.

It’s a stark reminder of what Tango already knows. Hels has plenty of violent, cruel players that like to throw their weight around, but there are plenty of victims, too.

“There.” Tango puts his empty bucket away, surveying their handiwork. “That should do it.”

Timmy eyes the dropchute apprehensively. “Are they... all comin’ down here? All at once?”

Tango softens. “Hey, it’s alright. These are good friends of mine, okay, you- they aren’t gonna cause trouble.” 

“Yeah.” Bravo pokes back out from the hallway, crossing over to them. “I wouldn’t let ‘em hurt you, anyways.”

Tango snorts. Distrust notwithstanding, the protectiveness is kind of cute to see. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bravo asks, immediately on-guard again.

“Nothing!” Tango insists, exasperated. “Gosh, would you- can you maybe chill out a bit? There’s no sneaky double-cross here, alright, I- I’m not like Atlas.”

Bravo blinks. “I know that,” he says uncertainly.

Tango wisely chooses not to point out his tone. “Okay, then.”

Timmy looks anxiously between them. “Are we… is everythin’ alright?” he asks, fidgeting with his hands. “There’s not gonna be anymore fightin’, is there?”

Bravo grimaces. “No, no, sorry. We’re good.” He glances sidelong at Tango. “I uh, I think some of these other guys might have… mixed feelings, seein’ me again, but I’m not gonna start anything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Don’t worry, I- I’m sure Jimmy will give them the low-down. None of them would just attack on sight, anyways.”

Bravo tenses, like he’s taken it as another slight against him, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Right.”

Before an awkward silence can descend, Jimmy’s voice echoes down the dropchute.

“Incoming!”

Tango puts an arm out, prompting Bravo and Timmy to back up from the edge of the pit. Jimmy swoops out from the chute a second later, followed closely by Grian and Pearl, wings fanning out to glide. The rest of the Double Lifers plunge behind them, landing amongst the cobwebs and water streams in a cacophony of shouts.

From there, it’s a chaotic few minutes as they work to help everyone else out of the pit. Swords make quick work of the cobwebs, hastily-placed blocks serving as a makeshift stairwell. There are lots of overlapping questions and exclamations, of course, as Tango reunites with his friends- demands to know what he was thinking and why he decided to tackle Hels by himself, which he expected.

But there are lots of tight hugs, too. Their anger is short-lived, fueled only by the fear that they’d lost him for good. It’s a mix of emotions. He’s humbled and relieved, sheepish but reassured by his friends’ care for him. All the while, though, he’s keeping an eye on Bravo and Timmy out of the corner of his eye, part of his mind keenly aware that they’re working with limited time.

“Hey, so,” he says eventually, clapping his hands, “uh- I hate to cut the reunion short, guys, but we gotta get goin’ here.”

Jimmy slips into place beside him, draping a wing over his shoulders. “Right,” he says, lifting his voice to address the room. “Um, so you guys already know Bravo. And uh, this is Timmy, my- my doppelgänger I was tellin’ you about.”

Bravo merely offers a nod, Timmy shyly peeking out from behind him- which is almost impressive, considering their height difference. The chorus of greetings that resounds from the Lifers makes him shrink back even further, so the room quickly hushes again. Tango can tell that everyone is incredibly curious about Timmy, but they’re kindly holding back for his sake.

Jimmy gives a half-hearted smile. “He’s, uh- he’s a bit shy, you see.”

“So.” Impulse steps out from the group, walking right up to Bravo- who steps forward to meet him. “Jimmy uh, he told us that you and Tango came to an understanding,” he says, staring Bravo down, “that you’re gonna help us out.”

Bravo lifts his chin. “That’s right.”

“Well, I wanna hear it from you,” Impulse says evenly. His golden eyes are hard in a way that Tango rarely sees. “I wanna actually hear that uh… you’re sorry for everything you did.”

Tango puts a hand out. “Impulse, now’s really not the time-”

“No,” Bravo says, unexpectedly. “No, I- I suppose that’s fair.” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flitting over the group. “I mean, I don’t blame you for not trustin’ me, it was your home that I helped invade.”

“And our friend you hurt!” Scar adds indignantly. He’s got an arrow notched in his bow, though he has yet to draw it.

Bravo winces. “Right. Well, I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to help Atlas attack you, and to say all that stuff about Tango, and blame him for this whole Hels situation.” He exhales heavily. “I’m sorry.”

Impulse studies Bravo for a moment, his forked tail lashing back and forth, before he eases back. “Alright, then.” He folds his arms, evidently satisfied, and turns to Tango. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tango lets out a breath, grateful for the change of topic. “Well, we know Atlas has the key to this stupid collar thing. But I mean, I’m not sure how we’re gonna get it from him.” 

Grian raises his brows, eyes wide behind his tinted shades. “Um, hang on a second… so- so you dipped through the portal on a mission to Hels, by yourself, in the middle of the night… and you didn’t even have a plan?”

Tango feels himself flush. “Hey, I- I was under a lotta stress, okay!” he defends. “I wasn’t thinkin’ that far ahead!”

Luckily Impulse cuts back in. “Do we know where Atlas is now?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Hels Tek is a few days away on foot, but they’ve got flying machines. They can make the trip in a fraction of the time. They’re probably already out there looking for Tango- or, at least, they’re gonna be real soon.”

Impulse rubs his chin. “Why don’t we just lure him here, then, and jump him?”

“Oh hey, yeah,” Jimmy chimes in, “we could have Bravo send him a message askin’ him to meet, like he’s sellin’ Tango out?”

Bravo frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jimmy asks, rounding on Bravo. “We made quick work of ‘em last time.”

Bravo holds his hands up. “Look uh, no offense,” he starts, immediately making everyone tense, “but you guys only won last time ‘cause Atlas didn’t expect much of a fight. He brought all those guys just for Tango. Didn’t help that they were some of the dumbest grunts I’ve ever seen. Plus, you uh, you had about a gazillion wolves to act as cannon fodder, so.”

Ren pins his ears back in obvious offense. “Uh, really?”

“Excuse me?” Pearl demands, crossing her arms. “I dunno ‘bout cannon fodder, now…”

“Yeah,” Joel jumps in, “uh, I’m pretty sure we destroyed those guys.”

“Yeah!” Bdubs echoes, puffing out his chest. “We- we ain’t scared’a no punks!”

Bravo scowls. “You guys are missing the point-”

“And you’re not helpin’!” Jimmy retorts. 

“No,” Tango says, “Bravo’s right.”

The sudden surprise that falls over the room is palpable. Even Bravo seems taken aback by Tango agreeing with him. But despite the combined attention from each pair of eyes in the room, Tango doesn’t shy away.

He normally hates being in any sort of leadership role. Taking charge over a large group of people? No thanks. It’s tempting to just go with what his friends want to do, to let them help the way they want. But the stakes here are too high to let self-consciousness interfere. While he trusts his friends, he also knows that he and Bravo are the only ones who actually know Atlas, and know what Hels Tek can really do.

It’s up to him to make sure they don’t go with a bad plan, just because it’s the easier route.

“Listen,” Tango says, spreading his hands, “Atlas knows you guys are here, okay, he would’ve seen you join in chat. He- he’s not gonna- even if we lure him here under the guise of handin’ me over, alright, he’s gonna be on guard and much better prepared than last time. That fight ain’t goin’ our way, trust me.”

Jimmy gives him a searching look. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Y’know, we- we aren’t afraid to fight.”

“I know,” Tango assures him. He reaches up to squeeze Jimmy’s hand, offering a faint smile. “And I appreciate it. But I- I’m not gonna just let you guys walk into certain death. We gotta be careful about this, okay? ‘Cause this,” he gestures at his collar, “is what Atlas came up with the last time he was able to plan ahead, and uh, that’s barely scratching the surface of what he’s capable of.”

Jimmy sobers at the reminder. Thankfully, the sentiment appears to sink in for the other Lifers as well, reflected in their expressions and dissipating tension.

Bravo gives Tango an acknowledging look- probably the closest thing he can muster to a ‘thank you.’ “Yeah, Atlas is a crafty bastard,” he says. “He’s- the only time he’s really vulnerable is when he thinks he’s got the upper hand. That’s when he slips up, when his hubris gets the better of him.”

Tango nods. “Atlas isn’t gonna relax ‘til I’m locked back in that farm.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, it hits him. Tango inhales sharply, and he can tell from the way Bravo’s eyes widen that they’ve both had the exact same thought.

“... oh.”

~*~

Relief floods through Bravo as the netherrack hill finally comes into view.

Before he and Tango left to meet Atlas, they’d decided to hide the portal in case anyone happened upon it. Neither of them had much skill in the way of terraforming, but they’d managed to scrape together a crude mound of netherrack that could pass as naturally-generated terrain, sloped to meet the surrounding landscape. He’d even lit a few pieces on fire with flint and steel as a final touch to help it blend in. It was probably overkill, considering he’d chosen to hide in this area for its seclusion in the first place, but better safe than sorry.

His feet are starting to ache from all the walking he’s done today, but he breaks into a jog as he closes the final distance. “You there, Timmy?” he calls, as loudly as he dares.

A block of netherrack pops out from the side of the hill, Timmy’s pale face appearing in the gap. “Bravo! You’re back!” Despite the faintness of his voice, he sounds overjoyed to see Bravo- like he always does, every time Bravo is apart from him. 

Like he’s never certain if Bravo will come back.

“Hey.” Switching to his pickaxe, Bravo mines another block away to make an entrance. “You uh, you didn’t see anyone snoopin’ around here, right?”

Timmy backs up to let him inside. “No, all quiet.”

“Good.” Bravo quickly puts the blocks back into place behind him. Stashing his pickaxe in his inventory, he leans against the wall, blinking as he adjusts to the green-yellow-red light from the portal.

“Did it- did it go okay?” Timmy asks, wringing his hands together. Colored light swirls in the hollows of his cheeks.

Bravo nods. “Yeah, he bought it. They’re on their way back to Hels Tek now, should be there in a couple more hours.” He checks his clock and sets a timer on his comm; the day-night cycle is world-dependent, so they need to make sure they come back at the right time.

“Oh, that’s good.” Timmy’s wings ruffle behind him; even after Bravo trimmed the lower feathers, they still drag on the ground. “So… it’s all goin’ to plan so far?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.“ Bravo puts his comm away and pushes off from the wall, clearing his throat. “So uh, are- are you ready to leave?”

“Yeah.” Timmy lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I… I think so. It’s… hard to believe it’s finally happenin’, you know?”

A bittersweet smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. He’ll be returning to Hels within the day, but at least Timmy can get out. “Yeah, I know.”

“You promised me we would,” Timmy murmurs, his eyes soft. “Remember? You promised me we’d leave Hels, and now… now we are. I’d never- if it weren’t for you, I never would’a had the courage to leave, I- I’d still be at spawn.”

Bravo glances away, shrugging. “Maybe.”

“No, I know I would be.” Timmy dares to take a step forward. Even with his shoulders hunched and wings curled around him, he towers over Bravo in the cramped space. “Thank you.”

Bravo looks up at him, his throat tightening. “I don’t… you know I- I didn’t help you for the right reason,” he makes himself say. “Right?”

Timmy makes a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. Does it… does it really matter, now?”

Bravo’s eyes trace the sharp edges of Timmy’s hair; hair he’d cut in the misguided pursuit of a projected ideal. “It does to me.”

Of course Timmy wouldn’t hold it against him. Half a lifetime spent alone has left him desperate for any kind of love, just as starved for it as he is for food. He would probably tolerate far worse than Bravo’s done if it meant not being lonely again. But that doesn’t make it okay. Just because Timmy might be willing to forgive him doesn’t mean he deserves it.

Timmy’s face falls. “Oh. Oh, okay…”

Bravo pushes down his guilt. He doesn’t have time to hash out this kind of personal business, not when the whole Hels Tek mess still needs to be resolved. “Now let’s get goin’, the others are waiting.”

“Right.” Timmy backs away, gaze downcast to hide his disappointment. “After you, then.”

Squaring his shoulders, Bravo turns and walks into the light.

~*~

As soon as the words leave Tango’s mouth, Jimmy immediately realizes what they’re thinking.

“No,” he says. “No, no, no, no, no, no way.” 

Tango turns to him, beseeching. “Jimmy-”

“No!” Jimmy insists, sweeping an arm out. “We aren’t- there’s no way we’re gonna let him put you back in that farm, Tango, it’s absolutely not happening!”

It’s insane to even consider it. After all the time Tango spent withering away in that farm, chained up like an animal, Jimmy would rather pull his feathers out than let Tango step back in there for even a second. He still has nightmares about that place a decade later; Jimmy fears this would completely break him.

(Come on, where’s your sense of drama?)

(What, do you have a better plan?)

(You can’t protect him forever.)

Bravo takes a step towards them. “Just hear us out-”

“You stay out of it!” Jimmy snaps, wings bristling. “I didn’t ask-”

“We’re on the same side, here!” Bravo protests.

“Don’t you start with that-”

“Hey.” Tango puts a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I know it’s not ideal, alright, but think about it. If we try to jump Atlas when he gets here, things are gonna turn out badly. He’ll be expecting it. But if we make him think he’s won, he’ll let his guard down. That’s the best chance we’ll have at pullin’ this off.”

Unfortunately, it makes sense. Jimmy hasn’t spent that much time around Atlas, while Tango and Bravo both worked with him for years. He has to trust their judgement.

(Ooh, this should be interesting.)

Jimmy swallows. “I… you’re probably right, but does it have to be that?” He cups Tango’s face, gently brushing his thumb over a darkening bruise. “I don’t- you’ve been through enough already, I- I don’t want you to suffer.”

Affection glimmers in Tango’s eyes. “I know,” he says, covering Jimmy’s hand with his own. “But I uh, I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought I couldn’t handle it, alright? It won’t be for that long, I’ll be okay.” He glances at the rest of the group. “I promise.”

(Famous last words…)

Some of the Lifers exchange worried looks or uncertain murmurs, but ultimately, they seem to come to the same realization as Jimmy.

“If you’re absolutely sure…” Impulse relents.

Bravo clears his throat. “Good, that’s settled.” He doesn’t sound very sympathetic. “Now we just gotta make Atlas think you guys are out of the picture.”

Jimmy crosses his arms with a huff. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Simple,” Bravo says. “You all jump in a lava pit, and I tell Atlas I got you in a trap.”

The reaction is instantaneous, several voices protesting at once.

“Absolutely not!” 

“We aren’t gonna just leave you in Hels-”

“This is outrageous!”

“- can’t be serious?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tango lifts his voice to quiet them, holding his hands up. “It’s the only way, alright? If Atlas sees your deaths in chat, he’ll know you respawned back home, so- so he won’t have any reason to suspect an attack when Bravo offers me up on a silver platter. If you guys don’t die, he might not even agree to meet.”

Jimmy fights to keep his voice steady. “So what, you just get thrown to the wolves? No backup at all?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Tango shrugs. “I don’t like it either, but making Atlas think he’s won is the best way to get one up on him.”

Jimmy frowns at his tone. He’s once again slipped into feigned nonchalance, acting as though he isn’t bothered at all by the prospect of being locked in the farm- the inhumane, painful, extremely traumatizing farm. Whether he’s pretending for their sake or his, Jimmy isn’t sure. The thought sits poorly with him either way.

But they don’t have a lot of options. If they don’t do this, the alternative would mean giving up and returning home, resigned to having that collar stuck on Tango forever- just like his cuffs. And he’s actually letting them help him this time, instead of trying to deal with it alone. Jimmy knows they can’t pass up this chance.

“Alright,” Jimmy sighs, running a hand through his hair, “so then… how are we gonna save you once you’re in Hels Tek?”

(Oh, go on then.)

(This should be good…)

(They just don’t know when to quit.)

Tango gives him a grateful look. “You’ll come back in the middle of the night, attack when he’s least expecting it.”

“Okay… sure,” Jimmy says hesitantly, “but once we come back through the portal, won’t our names show up in chat again, givin’ us away? I mean, even during the night, surely he’s got someone lookin’ out for that sorta thing?” 

“Yeah, we’d be right back at square one,” Impulse points out, “except it’d be even worse ‘cause you’ll be locked inside Hels Tek.” 

Grian knits his brows together. “Without flyin’ machines, it’s days away, right? They’ll have plenty’a time to mount a defense before we get there.”

“You won’t be coming back through that portal,” Tango says, jerking his head at the ceiling. “After the hand-off, Bravo’s gonna leave through it, and you’ll use him to open a new portal to me once I’m in the farm.”

Bravo folds his arms, nodding. “We’re gonna attack Hels Tek from the inside.”

~*~

It’s a long flight to Hels Tek.

Tango knew it would be, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. His body aches from the cramped position he’s in, stowed in one of the minecart seats with his hands still chained behind his back. The jostling of the pistons rattles his bones, ringing in his ears and pounding against his skull.

Worst of all is the constant gleeful malice he’s subjected to from Atlas. The doctor chatters almost constantly throughout the entire trip, pausing only to type the occasional message on his comm. He goes on and on about how Hels Tek will finally return to its former glory, how they’ve proved all those doubters wrong, how this just goes to show what hard work and determination can accomplish, yada-yada-yada.

Tango tries his best to tune him out. Just listening to that voice makes chills break across his skin.

(Whenever he has nightmares about Hels Tek, Atlas is always the face of it. There were plenty of other scientists that tortured him, of course. Honestly, Atlas had very little to do with the hands-on side of things. But he was always there to oversee it. Always looming in the background with that sickly grin, observing every test, every new cruelty with his sharp gaze.

But more than that, he was the one who brought Tango to Hels Tek in the first place. Under the guise of offered allegiance, of guidance, of belonging. He was the one who first made Tango believe that he could be capable of more than he ever dreamed of. The one who told him there was another way, a better way, than the chaos and violence of Hels. He’d promised Tango a home, then turned around and betrayed him.)

It won’t be for very long, he reminds himself. He just needs to hang on for a few hours.

Eventually, Hels Tek emerges from the red mist. The facility has expanded in Tango’s absence. There’s a new addition built onto one side, and another floor added to the central structure- if the extra height is anything to go by. It towers before him imposingly, like a great, toothed maw ready to consume him.

The convoy of flying machines steers around the side of the building, over the surrounding lake of lava, and into the garage. There’s another team of players waiting for them inside, the cavernous room quickly filling with noise as they begin to unload. Tango keeps his head down as he’s man-handled from the flying machine, two guards taking up position on either side of him. Their thick hands nearly encircle the entire width of his arms, rendering any hope of escape null and void.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to escape, he just needs to wait.

Atlas nods at them. “Off we go, gentlemen.”

Hels Tek is a maze of hallways and doors, as always. Tango’s eyes track the polished quartz floor as they make turn after turn, mapping out the route in his mind. It’s gotten a few detours here and there, presumably to accommodate all the new expansions, but he recognizes their path as soon as they turn towards the south wing.

Despite himself, his heart starts to pound. He forces a slow breath through his nose.

He can do this. It won’t be for long. They have a plan- his friends will come for him soon. It’s not for forever.

Atlas opens the final door for them with a grand sweep of his arm. “Here we are!” he announces, ushering them inside. “I’m sure you’ll recognize it, Mr. Tango.”

The farm hasn’t changed that much since the last time Tango saw it- but with the way it’s burned into his memory, he’d notice any change, no matter how small. The glass in the front has been replaced- or maybe just cleaned- and there are quite a few more chains attached to the back wall than he remembers, including a short one that looks about neck height.

For the collar, he assumes. So he can’t repeat his last escape act.

He hadn’t intended to fight. He wanted Atlas to think he was resigned to his fate, completely and utterly defeated. That’d be the safer move, for sure. But then one of the guards equips a shimmering pickaxe, mining up the glass blocks to open the farm. And suddenly he’s being dragged towards it, towards the beckoning wither roses within, and every other thought and intention flies clean out of his mind.

Tango screams.

“No! No, no, no, don’t-” He writhes in the grip of his captors, mindless and desperate. “Don’t put me back in there! No, please!” 

It’s futile, of course. His pleas go unanswered, his feeble escape attempts easily overcome as the guards shove him into place. The first pricks of wither rose break skin. Panic threatens to overwhelm him. He screams with a voice that’s foreign to him, shrill and harsh in his ears, vision blurring with tears that are already starting to run cold and black.

“Oh dear,” Atlas tuts, somewhere behind him, “you know you’re simply delaying the inevitable, don’t you?”

Tango fights with all the remaining strength in his tired body, twisting and thrashing to the point of rubbing his own skin raw, trying in vain to lash out, to claw or strike or bite. But the guards are bigger, and stronger, and seem to have been expecting this. They pull one of his hands to the respawn anchor, forcing his spawn to reset. Then they wrestle the chains around him, overlapping the old cuffs around his wrists and locking new ones into place around his ankles, arms, and legs, and clipping onto his collar. Altogether, it renders even the slightest movement impossible.

“Honestly, I thought we trained you better than this. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Tango doesn’t think he’s even screaming words anymore. It’s almost animalistic, a wail of pure terror and desperation, his inner fire trying but failing to respond.

“You may have fooled your new ‘friends,’ but I know what you really are. What you’ve always been.”

As a final touch, they wind the wither rose vines tightly around his body, their thorns digging into his skin. The wither effect is in full force now- that choking blackness consuming him from the inside out. There was a time he’d gotten so used to being withered that he’d scarcely noticed it, not unless it went unchecked and overpowered his health enough to kill him. But after going so long without it, it’s far worse than he remembers; like being plunged into an icy lake. 

“And we can’t have you living a lie anymore, can we? Now you’re finally back where you belong.”

Satisfied with their handiwork, the guards step back and replace the glass wall of the enclosure, sealing Tango inside. His reflection stares back at him helplessly, a distorted sense of self.

Atlas steps forward, grinning broadly, and hits a button on the wall.

The hoppers above Tango unlock, immediately siphoning away the blaze rods hovering around his skull. The dispenser beside him spits out a potion of regeneration, particles fluttering around him as his health begins to even out.

Tango dissolves into broken sobs. The dread that envelops him is almost suffocating, all-consuming, stealing his breath as completely as the wither rose flooding his veins. Distantly, he tries to hold on to a shred of hope, the reminder that his friends will be coming to save him. But it’s hard to believe it, amidst the haze of crushing, freezing agony.

Atlas leers at him from behind the glass.

“Welcome home, Tango Tek.”

~*~

Jimmy chews his lip, his wings shuffling uncertainly behind him.

Invading Hels Tek in the middle of the night is a solid plan, he supposes- if a bit vague. But it’ll certainly put them in a much better position than meeting Atlas on an even playing field. If they open a portal to Tango, they can just show up in the heart of the facility, with no warning whatsoever. Then it’d just be a matter of finding Tango to break him out, finding Atlas to kick his ass, and then returning home through the portal without getting caught.

Simple.

“... I still don’t like it,” Jimmy says, “but if you think that’s the best way to get the drop on Atlas, then I’m with you.”

(Oh, I was hoping they’d go this route.)

(Hels Tek vs Double Life, round two? Yes, please!)

(Can’t wait to see this…)

Tango gives him an appreciative- though slightly apprehensive- smile. “Good. Good, that’s… the best chance I can see us havin’, yeah.”

“There’s one problem,” Bravo says, frowning. “I’m sure once Atlas has you back in the farm, he’s gonna assign a guard to watch you. And as soon as that guard sees a portal spawn in the room, he’s gonna alert Atlas or- or set off an alarm or somethin’, and by the time everyone’s through, our presence will already be known.”

Tango tilts his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he amends. “But it’ll give us a hell of a better head start. It’s still our best shot.” He crosses his arms. “Unless there’s anyone else here who’s got a doppelgänger in Hels Tek?”

He sounds like he’d meant it as a joke, but Bravo scans the group before shaking his head. “No, I- I only recognize a couple of you from your doppelgängers, and uh, they aren’t at Hels Tek.”

Jimmy only has a second to feel confused before Etho chimes in. “Oh, yeah, you mentioned that last time,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That you’ve met my doppelgänger before?”

Bravo huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Your Hels is probably somewhere on the other side of the world right now, and he’s an asshole.” He nods at Impulse. “Your Hels might help us if we show up at his place, but uh, I- I don’t fully trust him. Think he’s got ulterior motives. And his place is still days from Hels Tek, we’d lose the surprise advantage, anyway.”

Impulse looks stunned. “Oh. Okay, then…”

“Hey!” Bdubs barks suddenly. “That’s- what’re you- hyaugh, you- what’s the big idea? Callin’ people- other people’s counterparts bad?” He puts his hands on his hips. “Like- like you’re a barrel a’roses, yourself?”

Bravo shrugs. “Well, sorry, but it’s true.”

An abrupt thought grabs Jimmy. The way Bravo’s acting right now- everything from his terse posture to his bored expression to his flippant tone- is exactly how Tango acts when he’s trying to pretend that he’s unaffected. It’s so obvious, now that Jimmy’s actually looking.

Clearly, his friends’ counterparts have made a greater impression on Bravo than he wants to let on. Must’ve been some pretty… intense experiences, to have left such an impact.

That’s… an uncomfortable thought for another time. Not that it would reflect at all on Etho or Impulse, of course- Jimmy knows better than anyone that all doppelgängers are their own people. It’s just… he hasn’t really given much thought to what his friends’ counterparts might be like, whether any of them would be as nasty and cruel as the players who invaded from Hels Tek.

Tango seems just as uneasy about this topic. “Okay, so- so what are you sayin’?” he asks shortly.

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hey, openin’ a portal to you once you’re inside is still our best option, okay, I mean- I’m just sayin’ we’ll just have to be ready to move, quick.”

“Um yeah, we got that,” Jimmy says, managing not to roll his eyes. “I- I wouldn’t expect any of us to be lollygaggin’ anyways-”

“Hey,” Bravo snaps, “we’ve only got one shot at this, alright? I’m just-”

“Actually,” Grian speaks up unexpectedly, stepping forward. “I… might know a better way. But uh, not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch’a stuff really quickly.”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Tango, seeing his surprise mirrored in his expression. The room’s attention shifts to Grian, equal parts curiosity and confusion.

(No, surely he’s not gonna…)

(Oh wow, did not see that coming!)

(It’s about time, huh?)

Scott folds his arms. “Go on,” he says cooly, his eyes narrowing. For some reason, it almost seems like he knows what Grian’s about to say. 

Grian swallows. “So, I... have this ability to uhh… kinda, sorta... see between worlds? Like, if I know what I’m lookin’ for, I can uh... project myself, in a sense, and view players without them knowin’.”

Whatever Jimmy might’ve been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that. “Are you jokin’, mate?” he asks, knitting his brows together.

“No, no,” Grian says carefully, “I… I’m bein’ serious.”

Scar gasps. “Wha- Grian, you never told me you were a hacker!” he says indignantly. “You know how good spectator mode would be for pranks?”

Grian presses his mouth into a thin line. “It’s not spectator mode, Scar… though, I- I guess the idea’s similar.”

Jimmy’s mind races. He knows there are quite a few things in the universe that he doesn’t understand- mainly those in the game-breaking and modding communities- so he supposes this wouldn’t be completely out of the question. He’s just shocked that Grian’s never brought it up before now.

Though most of the group seems to share his surprise, there are a couple odd reactions among them. Scott merely nods, expression stony, while Martyn looks bewildered- except, not in the expected way. It’s less like he’s surprised to hear this ability exists, and more that he’s surprised to hear Grian has it.

But whatever’s going on with those two can wait. One thing at a time.

“Oh,” Bravo says, sounding somewhere between confusion and annoyance. “You, uh- is there a particular reason you didn’t mention this earlier, or…?”

Jimmy shoots him a look. “That’d be well helpful, then,” he tells Grian. “If you don’t mind?”

Grian looks away. “I uh, I don’t like to do it,” he says, by way of an explanation. “For- for a few reasons. And I can’t do it for very long. But um… if there’s a chance I’ll find someone else we can open a portal to, that would let us sneak in undetected… yeah, I don’t mind.”

Tango blinks, his eyes wide. “Um. Okay, wow, I- I mean- sure? That’s…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve never even heard of that before, how did- do you know how or- or why you’re able to-”

“Uh, Tango,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “maybe now’s not the time?”

He can tell from the way Grian’s wings are drawing up, feathers ruffled, that he’s uneasy with this line of questioning. Even though Tango has no ill intent, just the excitement of puzzling out a new discovery, there obviously must be reasons Grian’s kept this to himself for so long. It’s his right to decide when and how to share that information.

(Ah, gonna make that mistake again?)

“You’re right,” Tango says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right, sorry.”

Jimmy offers Grian a smile. “Thank you, for tellin’ us. We could use all the help we can get, so, I- I’d welcome some recon. Don’t really see how that could be a bad thing.”

Grian cracks a wry grin, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.

(You sure about that, Tim?)

The sudden echo of Grian’s voice in his head makes Jimmy jump. Realization crashes into him shortly after; he did hear Grian in his thoughts that one time! Well, that’s… kind of creepy, he’ll admit, but it’s a relief he’s not completely cracking under the stress. Not yet, anyways.

Grian falls silent and completely still- save for his breathing. He doesn’t even blink. It almost feels like he’s staring through Jimmy, rather than at him, and his eyes have definitely changed color- though, from behind the tinted lenses, Jimmy can’t tell which one. Maybe that’s the point.

A chill runs down his spine. Seems like Tango wasn’t the only one here living with a secret. But if this whole journey with Tango has taught Jimmy anything, that doesn’t mean Grian’s any less trustworthy. His past is his own business; Jimmy’s sure he’ll explain more when he’s ready.

After a few moments, Grian pushes his glasses up and grins. “I think I know a guy who can help us out.”

~*~

“Right,” Mumbo says. “Okay, uh- lemme see if I understand this.”

(The Double Lifers have settled in what he’s been told is Tango and Jimmy’s house- or, rather, their ranch? It’s charming, in a rustic sort of way, but also a bit cramped, if he’s honest. Especially in the basement, where they’re all gathered around a glowing red portal. A hacked nether portal, apparently. Goodness, what shenanigans they’ve gotten up to…

He’s familiar enough with the Double Life roster. Save for Lizzie and Skizz, it’s everyone else from Last Life- many of them Hermits he’s known for ages. The only one missing is Tango. Despite the fact that they joined Hermitcraft within a short timespan of each other, he regrets that he hasn’t actually gotten to know the other redstoner all that well. They’re friendly, of course- just as much as any of the other Hermits.

But Mumbo certainly didn’t know about any of… this.

So when Grian turned up on Hermitcraft out of the blue- after none of the Double Lifers had been seen ‘round in the last two weeks or so- and insisted Mumbo needed to join Double Life immediately to help Tango, he hadn’t known what to think. He’d agreed, of course, but the rapid-fire explanation Grian provided at the time is still… struggling, a bit, to sink in.)

Grian nods. He’s perched on top of the portal, his upper set of wings just barely brushing the ceiling. “Go on, then.”

Mumbo runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. We-” he gestures to the gathered players, “all have these... alternate-world doppelgänger versions of ourselves called Hels? Like- like Helsknight and Welsknight?”

“Yup.” Grian discretely wipes a purple-stained tear from behind his glasses. He must’ve done something his eyes didn’t like; Mumbo will privately check in later, make sure they don’t need any repairing while he’s here.

“And Tango is one of these Hels,” Mumbo continues, “for- for some guy named Bravo?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy, leaned against one side of the portal, has got an uncharacteristic glower on his face. His wings are drawn-up and ruffled in a way that Mumbo recognizes as unhappy. Seems he isn’t fond of this Bravo character, though Mumbo isn’t sure why he’s so personally invested- “He had this ridiculous notion that Tango ‘stole’ what should’ve been his life,” Jimmy scowls, “even thought we would’a been soulmates.”

(Oh, that’s right. He’s Tango’s soulmate, at the moment. That was the gimmick of this world, Grian explained, but for some of them it’s turned into something more. Yet another surprise; from what little time Mumbo spent around Jimmy in previous seasons, he hadn’t noted any feelings of that nature towards Tango. But then again, they don’t often have time to focus on feelings amidst the throes of a death game.)

“But he’s come around, now, right?” Impulse prompts from back of the room. He’s stood beside a sugar cane farm shoved in the corner, golden eyes shining in the dim light.

Jimmy glances away. “Right, yeah.”

“Right,” Mumbo says haltingly. “Which is… well, it’s a bit- it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? This whole idea of doppelgängers, and a just absolutely wild prison world, and…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Anyway. Right now, Tango is trapped on his home world, in an evil redstone lab that’s… usin’ him for a blaze farm?”

(The thought turns his stomach. Having spent much of his life living and working among all manner of mob hybrids, he can’t imagine ever doing such a horrible thing. Mobs- true, naturally spawned, full-coded mobs- are completely different entities from players. Anyone with even a basic understanding of data analysis knows that.

If these are redstone scientists of a supposedly high caliber, then either the state of technology in this Hels world is far behind that of the rest of the universe, and they truly believe Tango to be more mob than player… or they do understand, and just don’t care.)

Jimmy’s eyes darken. “Yeah. They’re evil, alright.”

Guess it’s the second thing, then.

Mumbo’s eyes trace the redstone circuitry surrounding the portal. “And you need my data in order to open a portal to my uh, my- my Hels guy, doppelgänger fella, who’s a scientist at said lab, so you can rescue Tango?”

“That’s right.” It’s Etho who confirms this time, his mismatched gaze staring down from atop the sugar cane farm. “The explanation’s kinda involved, but there’s like, a weird connection between counterparts that can be used to lock onto coords and open a portal, ‘cause uh, normal comm portals don’t work goin’ in or out of Hels.”

“Right.” Mumbo exhales slowly. He starts tugging at his mustache before he can remind himself to stop, snatching his hand back down again. “Um, well- well that explains a lot, actually, about Tango, and why we’ve gotten radio silence from Double Life for the last couple’a weeks.”

Grian winces. “Yeah, sorry, it’s uh... a bit of a long story. I’ll fill you in later, but right now, we gotta work out a proper plan to rescue Tango.”

“Oh, right.” Mumbo blinks, taken aback. He fusses with his tie. “Alright, um, I- I- I’m not sure how much help I’d be with PVP, but…”

Grian shakes his head. “No, you’re gonna stay here,” he says, to Mumbo’s immense relief. “Y’know, to make sure the portal stays up and runnin’. And if we’re not back by tomorrow, we’ll… need you to go get X.”

“Hang on,” Jimmy cuts in, craning his head up to look at Grian. “I- I thought Tango specifically didn’t want to involve-”

“If we all get stranded in Hels, or worse, then we’ve got no other choice,” Grian says plainly.

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “I… guess not.”

(Mumbo’s still catching up on all the dynamics at play, here. But from what he’s seen and been told, it wasn’t Tango’s choice to share his Hels heritage with the Double Lifers. He’d kept it secret all these years for good reason, apparently. Though, whether it was genuinely a good reason or it was something that Tango felt like was a good reason… Mumbo isn’t sure.

Everyone’s entitled to their own past. It’s not as if they often host group sharing circles on Hermitcraft. But spend enough time with someone, and certain things are bound to come up eventually. Mumbo’s gotten the sense before that Grian was far from the only Hermit keeping secrets. And he’s seen that squirrely, backed-into-a-corner look in Tango’s eyes enough to know he likely came from… less than ideal circumstances.

But that’s never been his business. After all, when Grian turned up on his redstone world one day with empty, bleeding eye sockets, Mumbo had helped him with no questions asked. The rest of the story came gradually, piece by piece.)

“Now,” Grian says, gaze flicking back to Mumbo, “Bravo and Timmy should be comin’ back through in a bit. We’ll close the portal behind ‘em, and then when the time is right, we’ll have you open another.”

“Right, okay…” Mumbo hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “Um, who’s Timmy?”

Grian groans. “I knew I forgot to mention somethin’.”

~*~

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Tango cries, smacking his forehead. “Mumbo’s Hels was workin’ at Hels Tek this whole time? I- I- I can’t believe I never realized- oh wow, that’s- the powers of observation are just…”

He’s never recognized any of his friends as the counterpart to a player he knew in Hels. But how could he? It was so long ago- back then, he didn’t even know that Hels had overworld counterparts. He wouldn’t have assumed anything based on random similarities. And it wasn’t like he ever had a close, personal relationship with any of the people at Hels Tek…

Still, though. He feels incredibly foolish for never making the connection.

“Wow.” Bravo raises his eyebrows. Evidently, he became well-acquainted with Clear during his own time at Hels Tek. “Small universe, huh?”

Grian coughs into his fist. “Yeah, I uh, I don’t blame you for not recognizing him,” he tells Tango. “He’s… quite a bit different from Mumbo.”

That’s an understatement. Everything he remembers about Clear Cut is so different from Mumbo Jumbo- they’re almost opposites, right down to their names. Even their voices are different; Clear always had a thick, slurred way of speaking, his voice lower and rougher than he’s ever heard Mumbo’s. But maybe that’s less an inherent trait and more a reflection of the poor care he took of himself.

It makes Tango wonder what dictates how different a Hels will be from their counterpart. How much of it is based on codes and data, and how much is a result of the world they grow up in?

“Right. No, that- that makes sense.” Tango runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “And uh, that’ll actually work out pretty well. Clear has always been uh… out of the loop, we’ll say, for as long as I’ve known him. He’ll probably have no idea what’s goin’ on, so portaling in front of him shouldn’t raise any alarms.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, plus he usually spends his time alone, ‘cause no one else can stand to work with him. Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Grian says. He casts a look over the rest of the group. “After we respawn back on Double Life, I’ll hop over to Hermitcraft real quick and grab Mumbo. And while I’m at it, maybe I’ll see if any other Hermits wanna-”

“No,” Tango interrupts quickly. He can already see where this is going. “Look, I don’t- it’s bad enough that you all got mixed up in this, okay, I- I don’t wanna drag anyone else into Hels if I can help it.”

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t completely warmed up to the whole ‘asking people for help’ thing yet. But it’s different. Everyone on Double Life sort of became a part of this the moment Hels Tek invaded their world. They’re already at risk just by proxy, so of course they want to do all they can- despite the danger it puts them in.

He knows Atlas has already been eyeing other hybrids for his farms, and Hermitcraft is full of those. As of right now, there’s no feasible chance that he’d ever encounter them on his own. But if Tango rallies the rest of Hermitcraft to his aid, then he’s putting a target on their backs. That’s the last thing he wants to do to the place and the people that were his sanctuary for so long.

Jimmy frowns. “Tango, you know they’d all feel the same-”

“I mean it,” Tango says firmly. “I’m fine if you guys wanna help, alright, but don’t- no calling in the other Hermits.”

Grian purses his lips. “Fine. I’ll grab Mumbo and come straight back.”

Bravo looks between them before clearing his throat. “Okay, are we- I think we’re ready to get goin’ here, right?” 

“What, now?” Jimmy asks, turning to him in surprise. “Hang on, we haven’t worked out the full plan yet-”

“The longer it takes for you guys to die, the more suspicious Atlas will be when I reach out to him,” Bravo explains impatiently. “We can hash out the rest of the details once we’re back in your world, alright, but it’s gonna take time for Atlas to get here. We should get the ball rollin’ now.” 

Jimmy looks like he wants to argue, but Tango steps in. “Yeah, you guys should have plenty of time to work somethin’ out. You’ll have to wait ‘til night time to portal back, remember?”

“Right,” Jimmy says uncertainly, “but you won’t know the plan-”

“That’s okay.” Tango shrugs. “I trust you guys.”

It’s a scary proposition, sure. He’ll be completely at the mercy of his friends, simply having to just wait and hope their plan works. But they’ve more than proven their capability and commitment over the last couple weeks. If he can’t trust them with this, then he can never trust anyone else in the universe ever again.

Jimmy softens at that. “Alright, then,” he says, sounding touched.

“Good,” Bravo says, sounding decidedly less so. “Let’s draw your lava bath, then.”

“Does it have to be lava?” Joel complains, screwing his face up.

Bravo gives him an annoyed look. “It’s the most believable method for traps like this.”

“We’re gonna lose all our stuff,” Scott chimes in, arms folded. “We’re still kinda in th’ early game back on Double Life, so it’s not like we’ve got plenty’a resources ta’ spare.”

Bravo rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, just- you can give whatever you wanna keep to me and Timmy, we’ll be comin’ back through the portal, alright?” Crossing the room to the pile of chests, he rummages around in one for a second and then pops a couple of yellow shulker boxes down. “Here.”

Tango whistles. “Shulkers, huh? I uh, I didn’t even know shulkers existed ‘til I got out, how… where did you get shulkers in Hels?”

“Like I said, I’ve got a new sponsor.” Bravo shrugs, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice telling Tango to drop it. “You guys get your stuff sorted. I’ve got lava buckets in here, we can just fill the pit… so uh, you all can go for a nice little dip.”

A quiet murmur fills the air while the Lifers set to their task, shuffling around the cavern as they load up the shulker boxes and pour lava into the pit from the buckets Bravo provides. Tango gives his own inventory a quick look-over, but none of the supplies he brought are really worth sending home.

Apprehension gnaws at Tango’s stomach. It’s all starting to feel real, now, the weight of the task set before him finally sinking in. However this ends, he’s going to have to face his past head-on. Back to where this nightmare started. No more running, no more hiding, no more lies.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for it. Even after ten years. But this life he’s built for himself- with his friends, with Jimmy- means enough for him to try.

“Alright,” Bravo says, studying the new lava pit with an approving nod, “I think we’re about ready-”

“Um, hang on,” Jimmy interjects, holding a hand up. “I arrived here well before the others, wouldn’t it be strange for me to get caught in the same trap as them? I mean, if we want him to think Bravo trapped near the portal- it’d be too convenient.”

“Oh, good point,” Tango says, dismayed. His and Jimmy’s join messages will have shown up earlier than the others’ in chat. “Atlas will definitely pick up on that.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Well… maybe I could, uh…” He makes a stabbing motion. “You know.”

“What, kill him?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. Oh, he doesn’t like the thought of that at all. “Nuh uh. Not happening. We’ll figure somethin’ else out-”

“It would help convince him I’m not workin’ with you guys,” Bravo points out. “Just sayin’...”

“He’s right.” Jimmy puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder, resolve glimmering in his deep brown eyes. “If this plan is gonna work, we need Atlas to fully believe the story Bravo gives him. There can’t be any doubts or questions that would put him on edge, you know that.”

Tango does know that. But it doesn’t make him like the idea any more.

“I… I guess so,” he relents. “If you’re okay with it. I- I feel bad-”

“Tango, one quick death is nothin’ compared to what you’re takin’ on,” Jimmy tells him. 

Tango jerks his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess.”

Jimmy studies him for a moment. Then he puts a wing up to shield them from the rest of the room, taking Tango aside. “Are you… sure you wanna do this?” he asks quietly. “We can just go back home, take some more time. Long as Bravo’s out of Hels, we know Atlas can’t come after us, so we can wait ‘til we’re good and ready.”

Once again, Tango is taken aback at how seriously Jimmy treats his feelings. It’s the sort of consideration he’d never expected to receive before he left Hels. This entire mess is solely his fault, and yet here Jimmy is, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable.

“No, I’m sure,” Tango says, giving him a reassuring smile. “I wanna finally be done with this- this whole thing. Like we said, it’s- the more time Atlas has to prepare, the less likely we’ll be to come out on top. I’d rather do this now, on our terms.”

“Alright, then.” Jimmy lowers his wing and looks over at Bravo. “We’re doin’ it.”

Bravo merely nods, but Tango catches the flash of surprise in his eyes. He probably expected Jimmy to be a lot more resistant to the idea, considering the tension between them. Just goes to show the lengths Jimmy’s willing to go for Tango.

(Whether or not he deserves it remains to be seen.)

Grian claps his hands together, drawing the attention of the room. “Okay, everyone ready?” he asks, surveying the group gathered around the pit. Seeing no objections, he continues, “Good. We’ll go all at once, now, so it looks like a trap.” He glances at Bravo. “You’ll message Atlas after you kill Tim- I mean, Jimmy, right, and then head back through the portal after the hand-off?”

Bravo pulls out his communicator. “Yep.”

Tango clears his throat. “Uh, real quick…” He steps forward, his gaze slowly traveling over the group. “Thanks, you guys, for doing this for me. I swear, I’m gonna make it up to you-”

“Just stop it,” Cleo huffs, looking down at him with a bemused expression. “It’s- it’s- it’s fine, we’re all fine. This is- it’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we’ve got your back, buddy,” Impulse says warmly.

“Yes!” Ren pumps a fist in the air, lips drawn back into a fanged smile. “We shall show those heathenous scoundrels who they’re freaking messin’ with!”

A chorus of cheers and similar sentiments rises up from the group, and Tango feels his heart swell. He really can’t fathom how lucky he was to find such amazing friends. Even though they’re staring down a painful death and about to embark on an insanely dangerous mission, just for his sake, they harbor nothing but well wishes and high spirits.

Is it really any wonder he learned how to be a good person just by knowing them?

“Right, then.” Grian meets Tango’s gaze, offering a grin. “Good luck.”

Tango manages to smile back. “You too.”

“Okay, guys…” Grian turns to the pit, the lava below glinting in his lenses. “Here goes. Three, two, one… go!”

Tango doesn’t let himself look away as his friends jump into the lava, despite how upsetting it is- the screams of pain, the scent of burning. These deaths are on him. However this goes, he needs to make sure that all the strife he’s brought them is worth it. That, after today, none of them will have to worry about trouble from Hels ever again.

Their deaths are quick, thankfully, leaving the room in abrupt, unsettling silence.

“Okay, looks good,” Bravo says, glancing up from his comm.

Timmy, standing back against the far wall, peeks out from behind his hands, his ragged wings drawn around him like a blanket. “Is it over?” he asks meekly.

“Yeah, almost.” Bravo’s expression is unreadable, but it seems to Tango that his tone might have softened- just ever so slightly. “You can uh, head on up through the portal if you want.”

Timmy hesitates. “Um, I… think I’ll wait ‘til you come back from the hand-off,” he says, ducking his head. “If that’s alright.” 

“Oh.” Bravo rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “You sure you’re gonna be alright here by yourself, mate?”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, I’m... used to being alone.”

It doesn’t quite have the reassuring effect he might’ve been hoping for, as Jimmy exchanges a pained look with Tango. The guilt in his eyes is startling; it’s almost like Jimmy’s blaming himself for all the misfortune his doppelgänger suffered. As if it’s his fault Timmy was spawned into a prison world.

Yeah, Tango’s gonna have some words with him later…

“Well, that’s settled,” Bravo decides. He swaps out his comm for his sword, giving Jimmy a searching look. “Okay, uh… you ready to do this, then?”

Jimmy eyes the sword. “Yeah, just gimme a second,” he says, turning to Tango.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Tango beats him to it. He surges forward to wrap Jimmy in a fierce hug. “I love you,” he breathes, “so much.”

Jimmy responds instantly, wrapping his arms and wings around Tango just as tightly, sheltering them. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “And I promise you, we’re gonna get you outta there, alright, and- and we’re gonna take those jerks down. I’m not gonna let you get trapped there again, I promise.”

“I know,” Tango murmurs, tilting his head up to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “And I- I’m so sorry that you got caught up in all this, all this- this craziness and all the pain it’s caused-”

“Ey, none of that, now,” Jimmy says lightly. “It’s okay. We’re soulmates, remember?”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “That was just random chance-”

“But I’d choose you again, you know.” Jimmy takes Tango’s face in his hands, somehow steadying yet impossibly gentle. “Even knowin’ what would happen, I’d choose you a million times over.” 

Tango’s throat tightens. 

(God, what he wouldn’t give right now to feel this love through their soulbond instead of that constant, underlying static. It’s not that he doubts Jimmy’s love for him, not at all. Jimmy has made it abundantly clear through everything he’s said and done, even through the hardship of these last couple weeks.

But when Tango was able to feel it, the actual physical sensation of that emotion being sent through their bond, it had given him something more tangible to ground himself with. Something he could cling to in the face of his worst fears and insecurities. Something he could almost point to and reassure himself, ‘Yes, this is real.’

It’s yet another thing Hels Tek has stolen from him- and at the same time, it’s a reminder of what he’s fighting to get back. Not just safety and peace of mind, not revenge for the pain he’s suffered, but the gift of pure, unfiltered love that Jimmy’s given him.)

There’s so much more he wants to say, but he knows they’re out of time. So he simply closes his eyes and leans up to meet Jimmy’s lips. He lifts a hand to cover Jimmy’s, letting the claws that he was once so ashamed of curl around Jimmy’s fingers, pouring all the emotion he’s left unsaid into the kiss.

He’s pretty sure Jimmy gets the message.

All too soon, Jimmy’s pulling back to face Bravo- though he doesn’t let go of Tango’s hand. He lets out a shaky breath. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Bravo, to his credit, doesn’t seem overly keen to murder Jimmy. “I’ll uh, I’ll make it quick,” he says, drawing his sword back. “Here goes.”

Tango squeezes Jimmy’s hand. He holds Jimmy’s gaze even as the glint of metal flashes in his periphery, and he doesn’t flinch when the blood sprays his face.

~*~

Bravo sits back, studying his handiwork with a discerning eye.

“Now this is rough, okay,” he starts, “but it’s- it’s a general idea of the layout.”

‘Rough’ is putting it nicely. The diagram he’s scrawled across several blank maps is hardly recognizable as a floorplan, and there are certainly parts of it that are lacking detail. But there are just some areas he never became that familiar with during his time at Hels Tek, for one reason or another, so it can’t be helped.

It’s better than nothing, anyways.

“This is Hels Tek?” Jimmy asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “It’s massive!”

He’s standing on the other side of the table across from Bravo- where he can keep an eye on Bravo without being too close. Though, space is a bit of a luxury at the moment. The living room they’ve gathered in isn’t all that much bigger than the basement where the portal was. Bravo thinks it’s the same ranch house where he confronted Jimmy and Tango for the first time; clearly, they rebuilt it after Tango burned it down.

Or, after it burned down in a fire that Tango accidentally started, while defending himself from Hels Tek. He’s not the one to blame for that, Bravo reminds himself.

It’s a quaint little home. Even though the room is packed full of players, Bravo can still make out all sorts of personal touches. Framed embroidery pieces hanging on the wall. Discarded golden feathers collected in a glass jar. A well-crafted rocking chair sitting in the corner, with ashen claw marks carved into its arm.

The Bravo of a few hours ago would’ve been tempted to attribute all the warmth in this place to Jimmy. All these sentimental, human touches… it’s beyond what should be capable for a blaze hybrid like Tango- at least, for the blaze hybrid Atlas portrayed him as. But looking around, Bravo can see his doppelgänger’s mark on this place clear as day, and he knows Tango had just as much a role in making this house a home as Jimmy did.

“Yep.” The avian with the quadruple set of wings and freaky spectating abilities, Grian, has perched atop his broad-shouldered companion, Scar- the one with the itchy trigger finger. “I- I didn’t see much of it when I was uh… havin’ a cheeky look, but I got that impression.”

Guess ‘a cheeky look’ is his way of saying ‘astral-projecting my consciousness through time and space to invisibly spy on unaware players.’ Whatever. Why not? This whole situation is already so goddamn weird…

“It’s a bit of a maze, yeah,” Bravo says. “Which is why we’ve gotta have a game plan worked out before we just go runnin’ in there all willy-nilly.”

Jimmy’s wings are hitching up around his shoulders, which Bravo only notices because he’s seen Timmy do the exact same thing when he’s uncertain. “Okay, then… so where do we start?”

“Well,” Bravo says, “if we open a portal to Clear, I- I bet we’ll spawn in the garage. He’s always in there workin’ on the flying machines, and I’m sure he’ll wanna tune ‘em up after Atlas gets back with Tango. I mean, there’s a chance he’ll actually go to sleep at a decent hour and we’ll spawn in his room, instead, but uh. It’s a small chance.” 

“Ah.” Clear’s more sightly and hygienic doppelgänger, Mumbo, is standing beside Scar and fidgeting with his tie. There’s a knowing, sympathetic look in his reddish eyes. “Hard worker, is he?”

Bravo snorts. “Bit of an understatement, yeah.” He points at the map. “So let’s assume we spawn in the garage, here.”

“That’s a nice, big space,” Grian says approvingly. “Should let us get our bearings.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Bravo traces his finger along the lines. “The back wall here opens up to the lava lake that surrounds the whole place, and the entry to the rest of the facility is here. I think once we all spawn in, we should leave a couple people to guard the portal, make sure no one else stumbles across it.”

“I dunno,” Jimmy says, frowning. “Is splittin’ up really the smartest thing to do?”

Bravo shrugs. “I mean, we might be able to spawn another portal if we had to, but it’ll be our fastest way out of there and I’d like to keep it that way.” He gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “You really wanna risk someone breakin’ it before we can get back through?”

He knows exactly how hard it is to build a portal in Hels with the combined forces of Atlas and Alisker in pursuit. If it weren’t for an unexpected sponsorship agreement, it would’ve taken god only knows how long for him to gather all the necessary resources.

“I guess not,” Jimmy sighs. “Um, who should stay, then?”

Bravo’s mildly surprised at Jimmy’s willingness to defer to his judgement. He isn’t foolish enough to think Jimmy’s forgiven him, of course. But it seems like pulling off this mission matters more than holding a grudge.

He looks around the room, slowly examining the gathered players. Proper introductions were a rushed affair after he and Timmy came back through the portal. In an ideal situation, he would be better informed of each player’s strengths and weaknesses in order to determine what role they should play. But he remembers seeing at least some of them in action during Hels Tek’s invasion, and he can infer a couple things fairly well.

For example; the giant zombie player and the dog hybrid are too tall to even stand inside this average-sized room. That’ll definitely cause a few problems.

“My vote is on you two,” Bravo says, nodding at them in turn.

The blond guy with the eyepatch- Marty, was it?- squints at Bravo suspiciously. “Uh, Ren and Cleo are some of our heaviest hitters, what’re you playin’ at?”

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hels Tek isn’t exactly built with players like you in mind,” he explains. “The hallways are only three high. It’s gonna be pretty cramped and hard to navigate for you, so I think you’d be the most help standing guard in the garage.”

“Uh, seriously?” Ren asks flatly, his ears drawn back. “Sorry, my dude, but I’m not the kinda person who lets his friends go out on the frontlines alone.”

Cleo seems similarly displeased. “Yeah, I- I- I don’t- I mean, I- I’ve never particularly claimed to be good at PVP before, but surely I can do more than just… just stand guard?”

“Hey,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “I don’t like it either, alright, but Bravo knows Hels Tek the best outta all of us. We should do what he says.”

Cleo huffs, blowing her bangs out of their face. “Fine.”

Bravo blinks at Jimmy. “Uh- okay, good.” He clears his throat, turning back to the map. “The farm they’ll be keeping Tango in is here. So we’ve got a little bit of a trek, but we’ll be able to avoid the residential district where most of the staff will be sleeping. As we make our way through, stealth should be our number one priority- at least on the way there.” He glances up. “So uh, needless to say, this will be a dog-free mission.” 

He directs it towards the red-hooded moth lady, who’s got a dog seated at her side. It’s only one, but Bravo recalls her having an entire pack; he can hear them outside, even now.

“What?” Red objects, her fuzzy wings puffing up indignantly. “But they’re so helpful!”

Bravo doesn’t budge. “Dogs are loud, and they wander,” he says plainly. “You wanna come, you leave the puppers at home.”

“Oh, alright,” Red pouts. 

“Now,” Bravo continues, “most of the staff should be asleep. But if we encounter anyone, we need to neutralize without killing, or they’ll just respawn in their room and raise the alarm.” 

Marty raises his hand. “I can brew up some splash potions of slowness.”

“Oh, that’d help, yeah.” Bravo tilts his head. “Uh, can you craft some slowness arrows, too? We can have the archers in the group take point, so they’ll get first shot at anyone we come across.”

Scar’s eyes light up. “Oh! That’s a wonderful-”

“Not with your crazy bows of one-shot-kill ridiculousness, though,” Bravo warns. “We’re just tryin’ to get the jump on ‘em, remember? So- so bring somethin’ a little less lethal.”

The blue-haired man standing beside Cleo clicks his tongue. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

There doesn’t seem to be any real objection behind the complaint, though, so Bravo continues. “If we hit ‘em with slowness and knock ‘em out, some basic chains would probably be enough to restrain them. Far as I know, it’s just plain ol’ humans workin’ there.” He scratches the back of his head. “For uh, for obvious reasons. So we should all have a bunch of chains on us, just in case.”

Impulse nods. “We’ve got an iron farm, shouldn’t be a problem.” The less-demonic counterpart of Bravo’s new sponsor seems to have cooled down, but his presence is still a bit unnerving.

“Great.” Bravo turns back to the map. “So we’ll proceed to the south wing, and then-”

“Uh, hey, I got a question.” The speaker is a short man with green antennae and sharp teeth. Jeeze, what was his name- something with J? “Why are we even bothering with sneaking along all these corridors when we can just mine our way through?”

“Hels Tek has a built-in security system,” Bravo says, trying to be patient. “The walls are four blocks thick, and the middle two layers are fed by an instant cobble generator. Soon as a block is mined away, it’ll be replaced- and not only that, but the update will be read by their security system. Same for breaking down any of the locked iron doors.”

“Oh.” Mr. J crosses his arms. “Well, you could’a bloody started with that…”

“So wait,” Etho cuts in, “how are we gonna get past the doors, then?” 

Bravo fights back his annoyance; of all the people to look and sound so similar to their counterpart, why did it have to be Patho’s? It’s incredibly grating. “Each Hels Tek employee has an ID card that grants them access through the doors, so we’ll just snag Clear’s. Should get us where we need to go.”

Etho quirks a brow. “Should, huh?”

Irritation flickers through Bravo. It was said in a light and teasing tone, but in that voice, and with those mismatched eyes peeking over his mask, it just rubs Bravo the wrong way. He opens his mouth to retort-

“So we get to the farm,” Jimmy says quickly, redirecting the conversation. “Once we get Tango out, then what?”

Bravo lets out a breath, willing the tension from his body. He’s not in Hels anymore, he reminds himself; devolving into bickering won’t help anyone. “Then our target will change. We’ll have to find Atlas, preferably before he even knows we’re there.” He points at the map. “This is his room, here.” 

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So we just… kill him, then?”

As enticing as that sounds, Bravo shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy. My gut says he’ll have the key in his ender chest, not his inventory. So we’ll have to overpower him, make him open it.”

“Then we can kill him?” Shorty McShouty asks in that impossibly loud voice of his, big eyes sparkling with equal parts excitement and bloodlust. It’s not very intimidating.

Bravo sighs. “Sure, whatever. But once we have Tango and the key, everyone’s priority should be gettin’ the heck outta dodge. We need to get back through the portal and close it behind us as soon as humanly possible, or else this whole thing is gonna backfire spectacularly.”

“I think it’s a solid plan,” Jimmy says appraisingly. “Is there anythin’ else?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Bravo folds his arms. “We should get a couple chests of backup gear to leave by the portal in case anyone’s killed and respawns back here. And I want one more person to stay here, on this side of the portal. Y’know, to keep an eye on things.”

Jimmy looks confused for a moment before he follows Bravo’s gaze to Timmy, who’s currently doing a very good job of trying to blend into the wall.

Realization settles in Jimmy’s eyes. It’d been an unspoken agreement between him and Bravo that Timmy would stay here. He’s obviously not a fighter, and even if he were, he’s in no condition for this sort of thing. But Bravo doesn’t want to leave Timmy alone with no one but Mumbo. Even though he seems more sensible and capable than his disaster of a doppelgänger, Bravo would rather be sure they have at least some backup, in the unlikely event any Hels players manage to get through the portal before the rest of them return.

“Yeah, good call,” Jimmy says. “Who d’you think?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Your choice.”

He’d noticed the immediate sense of protectiveness Jimmy felt towards his doppelgänger, and he knows these players far better than Bravo does. He’s the best judge to decide who should stay and look after Timmy.

Jimmy gives him an appreciative look. “Alright. Hey, Bigb,” he says, turning to the dark-skinned man standing beside Ren, “would ya mind keepin’ these two company?”

Bigb breaks into an easy grin. “Sure, no problem.”

Bravo nods his approval. Bigb is a goat hybrid- if the curved horns and floppy ears are anything to go off of. A fellow prey animal will definitely put Timmy more at ease, especially one as un-intimidating and approachable as Bigb. Plus, he seems fairly reserved; Bravo hasn’t heard the man speak once before now. If Timmy’s going to feel safe with anyone here, it’s him.

“Alright.” Bravo pulls out his communicator, checking the timer. “Sunset in Hels is in T-minus three hours, so make whatever preparations you need and meet back here then. I wanna run over the plan again, make sure everyone’s got a good sense of things before we go through.”

Jimmy exhales slowly, determination settling over his features. “Right. Sound good, everyone?”

General murmurs of assent ring out around the table. Bravo rises to his feet.

“Okay. Let’s get goin’, then.”

~*~

Tango swallows the lump in his throat. “So, that’s done.”

It was strange, watching Jimmy die. Despite knowing better, Tango had half expected to die with him, seized by a sort of anticipatory phantom pain. Though he knows it’s only temporary, the loss is immediate and severe- a yawning chasm of ice in his chest. He can almost feel Jimmy’s hand still squeezing his own. And he can feel still-warm blood on his face, but he doesn’t bother wiping it off; it’ll help sell his ‘beaten and defeated’ look to Atlas later.

“Yeah.” Bravo stashes his sword in his inventory, pulling his comm back up. “Right, okay, sending the message now…”

Tango takes a few breaths to steady himself. Unfortunately, that was the easy part. The hard part still lies ahead of him.

The cavern seems a lot bigger with just the three of them, the air filled with nothing but the low bubbling of lava. Tango feels unnervingly exposed, just like he did when he and Jimmy first fell down here. God, was that really only a few minutes ago? Ten, fifteen at the most? After the physically draining fight and emotionally draining conversation, it feels like days. He’s really regretting not getting a full night’s sleep before coming here, but sneaking off in the middle of the night had seemed like his best bet at the time.

A lot of good that did.

“He bought it,” Bravo announces suddenly. “He’s agreed to come get you. I know a spot between here and Hels Tek, ‘bout an hour’s walk away. Should give us plenty of time before he arrives.”

Tango’s heart jolts. While he’s relieved their plan seems to be working, it’s hard not to feel dread. “Oh. Oh, great, yeah. Set it up,” he says, like he hasn’t just signed off on his own arrest warrant.

If Bravo’s picked up on his tone, he graciously doesn’t mention it. He merely nods and resumes typing.

Looking around the cavern, Tango casts about for a new topic before an uneasy silence can settle. His gaze falls on the empty portal frame, and a thought occurs to him. “Hey, uh, if the portal’s gonna be open for a few more hours, we should cover it up before we go. Just in case.”

“Sure,” Bravo says, green eyes still fixed on his comm, “I’ve got plenty’a netherrack just lyin’ around, we can- we can do something.”

Tango glances sideways at Timmy, who’s doing that anxious little weight-shifting dance of his, like he’s torn between moving closer or staying put. “So uh, I guess you’ll just hang out by the portal ‘til Bravo gets back, then?”

“Oh!” Timmy jumps a bit under Tango’s gaze, sending a couple wayward feathers to the ground. He offers a shy, slightly apologetic smile- and god, if that isn’t Jimmy’s expression on his face. “Um, yeah,” he says quietly, “I… I think that’d be best. Lemme just get my inventory sorted…”

He shuffles over to the side of the room with piles of chests and shulker boxes, wings dragging behind him. Tango’s heart tightens; he isn’t the most well-versed on wing care, but even he can tell Timmy’s are in rough shape.

The only reason he hasn’t brought it up yet is because he’s certain Jimmy noticed, too, and is already planning on doing something about it once this is all over. Taking Timmy under his wing, so to speak. The immediate sense of responsibility that Jimmy felt upon seeing his doppelgänger was plain as day. 

All that remains to be seen is whether or not Bravo will agree with that sentiment. Things are still… complicated, to say the least. While Tango’s pretty sure Bravo doesn’t hate them anymore, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d want to stay with them- or leave Timmy with them. 

And Timmy’s feelings on the subject are another matter, too. He might not realize just how much help he needs- and not just in the physical sense, either- but they can’t force it on him. After they get back to Double Life, they’re gonna have to have a pretty frank discussion about what to do next-

“You know, you’re takin’ a pretty big risk, here.”

Bravo’s sudden voice jolts Tango from his thoughts. He gives Bravo a sidelong glance as he comes to stand next to him; he’s still looking down at the communicator in his hands, brows pinched in an uneasy expression. He looks as tired as Tango feels- but still tense. Always tense.

Tango makes a noncommittal noise as he taps his collar. “Well, I know Jimmy won’t be happy if I just leave this thing on, so.”

Bravo’s frown deepens. “No, not that. It’s just- for all you know, I could hand you off to Atlas and then be on my merry way. Like, once I’m through the portal, I can make a new one with my comm and just bail, leavin’ your friends high and dry, or I could even rat out your plan to Atlas.” He finally looks up at Tango. “And you’d have absolutely no way of knowing.”

The sincerity in his voice is striking. Tango tilts his head. “Huh. Guess that’s true.”

Bravo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wh- you didn’t- it didn’t occur to you that I might pull a double-cross?”

“Not really,” Tango answers honestly.

Bravo runs a hand through his hair. “Jeeze. You would’a thought I was the one spawned here…”

Surprise flickers through Tango. He’s spent the last ten years constantly feeling more ‘Hels’ than all his overworld friends- more monstrous, more violent, more untrustworthy. Rage and sadism, deceit and paranoia. Yet somehow it hasn’t occurred to him that by all accounts, he’s probably more ‘overworld’ than the vast majority of Hels players.

And apparently, more than his actual overworld counterpart.

“Yeah,” Tango laughs, “yeah, maybe I’m a bit lacking in the uh, healthy Hels skepticism department. Or maybe I’m just tired of makin’ decisions based on what I’m afraid other people might do. There’s only so much you can control, you know? We’ve all gotta make our own choices. And as long as I can live with mine, I’m good.”

“Really?” Bravo asks, sounding doubtful. “If you agreed to walk into a trap only for me to betray you, you’d be good with that?”

Tango shrugs. “Sure. But uh, just ‘cause I don’t think you would be.” He clears his throat. “Now, if we’re done with waxing hypotheticals, how ‘bout we get goin’?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bravo says, putting his comm away. “Hey uh, you ready to head up, Timmy?”

“Just about,” Timmy calls back, gathering up the last of the shulkers holding the Double Lifer’s gear.

Tango follows Bravo over to the passageway in the wall. “Yeah, this netherrack hut ain’t gonna build itself.”

Bravo huffs a dry laugh, hitting the button to open the passage. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Timmy can help us out with that.”

“Who, me?” Timmy asks in surprise as he comes up behind them. He has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the way up the stairs. “Um… I’m not good with building at all, Bravo.”

“What?” Bravo’s head whips around, his mouth falling open. “I- I just assumed- you’re not the builder?”

Timmy shakes his head. “No, no, I- wait, are you not the builder?”

Tango barely manages to hold back his laughter. Oh, he can wonder all he likes about the fate and random chance behind doppelgängers and soulmates, but at least some things stay the same.

“No!” Bravo groans. “No, I’m not- I mean, barely, okay. I can do like, the bare minimum, and- and certainly not terraforming or anything- and what are you smirkin’ at, skippy?” he demands, rounding on Tango.

“Nothing,” Tango hums, feeling surprisingly lighthearted despite the fact that he’s literally marching to his own doom. “Don’t worry about it.”

~*~

Jimmy flattens his wings out as the ranch comes into view, slowly gliding towards the ground.

He’s been all over the world in the last few hours, checking on the other players and helping them with preparations. Not that any of them really need his help to craft gear or stock up on food. It’s more for his benefit, honestly, to speak to them one-on-one.

Overall, everyone’s feeling pretty good about their plan. Some of them are rather keen to go on the attack, while others have their reservations. Jimmy’s relayed his and Tango’s encounter with Bravo quite a few times, now- though he knows even he doesn’t have the full story, having been stuck down in that damned pit.

It’s led to more than a couple questions regarding Bravo’s trustworthiness. Jimmy’s done his best to dispel their fears- but in all honesty, he isn’t even sure they should be trusting Bravo like this. Tango’s insistence is the only reason he’s agreed to this insane plan in the first place. He seemed to believe, with every fiber of his being, that they were capable of pulling this off.

And Jimmy will be damned if he lets Tango down.

He takes in the scene as he descends upon the ranch. Bravo’s on the porch with Bigb, leaned against the front railing as they chat. He acknowledges Jimmy with a nod, which Jimmy returns with a raised hand. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he steers off towards Timmy, landing a couple yards away from the other avian.

Timmy’s standing in the field, gazing out over rows of wheat and the distant pastures. His arms hang limply at his side, wings drooping behind him, his face upturned slightly into the late morning sun. There’s a fragile stillness to him. Like a glass bottle on the edge of a table.

Jimmy clears his throat as he approaches, so as not to startle him. “Takin’ in the view?” he asks softly.

Despite his forewarning, Timmy shrinks back a little. “Y- yeah. I’ve… never seen the sun before, you know?” He wraps his arms around himself. “It’s so… warm, and bright…”

Jimmy’s heart aches. “Right.” It hurts to think of how his counterpart- how every Hels player- was deprived of something as simple as sunlight. Living under a bedrock ceiling twenty-four-seven would drive him insane. “Well, I- I’m glad you get to see it now.”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, me too. I- I can’t believe you guys have… so many passive mobs…”

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy realizes, “Tango mentioned those were uh, pretty scarce in Hels.” He jerks his chin at the pasture down the hill. “Um, d’you wanna meet our cows?”

Timmy follows his gaze and cringes. “Sorry, I… don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jimmy says quickly, “they won’t hurt you! They’re really friendly-”

“No,” Timmy murmurs, licking his lips, “no, I- I’m not worried about that.” The hungry look in his eyes is suddenly unnerving.

Jimmy hesitates. Back in Hels, Timmy had assured him that Bravo was looking after him. Jimmy had assumed that meant Bravo was feeding him, working to slowly repair the damage that years of starvation had done. But looking at him now, Jimmy’s not so sure that’s the case.

He pushes down a flare of anger; that won’t help right now. “Oh, uh- hey,” he says, as casually as he can muster, “I’ve got food, if you’re interested. Got some steak with me, actually, and-”

“Food?” Timmy’s head snaps around, eyes going impossibly wider. “Can- can I have some?”

Jimmy startles at his sudden intensity, managing a laugh as he pulls some steak from his inventory. “Uh yeah, yeah. Here-”

“No!” 

Bravo’s voice, somewhere behind him. In the second it takes Jimmy to glance over his shoulder, Timmy lunges for his hand.

But Bravo’s already there- pushing past Jimmy, he grabs Timmy and yanks him back, out of reach. “Don’t give him that!” he snaps at Jimmy. “Put it away!”

“No, please!” Timmy cries, wings flailing as he struggles against Bravo. His eyes are wild and desperate. “I- I’ll be careful this time-”

“Hey, hey!” Jimmy shouts, putting the steak back in his inventory only to free his hands and pull Bravo off Timmy. He shoves Bravo away, flaring a wing out to block him from Timmy. “What is your problem?”

Bravo holds his ground, getting right in Jimmy’s face. “He still can’t handle solid food, he’s on a strict refeeding regimen! You’re gonna fuck him up-”

“Refeeding?” Jimmy jerks his head back. “What d’you mean?”

Bravo has the audacity to look annoyed, his green eyes narrowed. “Uh, hello? He’s been starving to death for years, any substantial food comes right back up and puts him off the rest of the day- learned that the hard way.”

“Bravo, c’mon…” Timmy seems to have calmed down, now that the food is no longer within reach. “It- it isn’t that bad,” he tries, voice sullen.

Bravo steps back from Jimmy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Timmy, you know the rules.”

Jimmy folds his arms, letting his wings settle. “So what are you feedin’ him, then?” he demands.

Bravo bristles under his accusation. “Suspicious stew, saturation. But he can only have it a couple times a day, ‘cause his stomach’s not used to like, actually being full yet. Next meal isn’t for a few more hours, I- I’ve already explained all this to your goat buddy.”

“Huh.” Jimmy frowns. “Wait, where’d you get stew from? You need flowers for that, right? Poppies, or… daisies, right? Not a lotta those in Hels.”

“I told you,” Bravo huffs, “I found a new sponsor.”

The last of Jimmy’s anger falls away, leaving him a bit sheepish. He shouldn’t have assumed Bravo was just letting Timmy starve. They might still have their differences, but everything Bravo’s done has been out of a sense of justice- albeit twisted and horribly misinformed. And despite it all, Timmy still seems to care about him. That ought to count for something.

(Way to go, idiot.)

(Getting all worked up over nothing…)

(Man, you really can’t do anything right.)

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Right.” He turns to Timmy, who’s giving him a hopeful look. “Sorry, Timmy,” he winces, “I don’t wanna make you sick.”

“Just a bite?” Timmy pleads.

“No,” Bravo says firmly. Then he softens. “Sorry. We can try solid food in a few days, alright?”

Timmy sighs, glancing away. His wings droop even further, defeated. “Okay…”

“Hey, Timmy!” Bigb’s suddenly calling from the porch, beckoning Timmy over with that soothing voice and dazzling smile of his. “You mind helping me out with something inside?”

(Thank the universe for Bigb.)

Timmy hesitates and looks at Bravo, who waves him off. Giving them a final apologetic half-smile, Timmy shuffles back to the porch, following Bigb inside.

The front door closes behind them, leaving the ranch in relative calm and silence; a warm breeze rifling through the wheat fields, animals calling from the pastures and barn. Clouds float lazily across the blue sky. It’s peaceful, the way the ranch always is- except Jimmy can recall another time, not very long ago, when they stood in this very spot on a day much like this one, and he choked on smoke as the ranch burned behind them and his world fell apart.

He wonders if Bravo is thinking about that day, too.

“Sorry,” Bravo says after a moment. “I should’a said somethin’ before, there just… wasn’t a good time.”

Jimmy coughs into his fist. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Speaking of… he debates with himself for a second before deciding to bring up something Timmy told him when they met. “So… you uh, you trimmed those feathers of his?”

Bravo gives him a sidelong look. “Yeah?”

Jimmy pauses. “Well, did you know you made it so he can’t fly ‘til they grow back?”

“What?” Bravo’s eyes widen. “I- I only trimmed the lowest ones, to keep ‘em from draggin’ on the ground!”

He sounds genuine, at least. “You took his flight feathers, mate,” Jimmy says as gently as he can, stretching his own wing to point them out. “These ones.”

Bravo stares at the feathers, stricken. “I- I didn’t know- I was just tryin’ to clean him up a bit!”

“To make him look more like me, right?” Jimmy asks.

(Oh, shit!)

Bravo closes his mouth with a click and glances away. “Look, I- I already… I know I messed up with him, alright?” he grits out. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not- I mean, I’m not tryin’ to,” Jimmy sighs. “Just… what, exactly, are your intentions with him?”

Bravo’s head whips around to look at him, bewildered. “Are you- are you seriously givin’ me the shovel talk right now?”

The absolute disbelief in his voice inexplicably makes Jimmy flush; he’d sounded smack like Tango just then. “Well- I- I mean,” he stammers, “in a way, I guess? You- you can’t blame me, alright? He’s my counterpart, I just-”

“You wanna protect him,” Bravo finishes, realization settling in his eyes. “You look at him, all frail and stuff with those big sad eyes, and you wanna protect him. I get it.”

Jimmy blinks. “Um, yeah. Is… that why you brought him with you?”

Bravo works his jaw for a moment, evidently rejecting the first thing he’d tried to say. “... not really,” he admits. “Not at first, anyway. I mean- I- I don’t fully understand it, myself, I was just… I don’t know. Trying to claim… some amount of the happiness that you two found? I- I thought I was owed it, I guess. But it was stupid, you can’t- you can’t force these things.”

Jimmy’s surprised that Bravo’s actually confiding all this in him. And even more surprised at the sincerity in Bravo’s voice, the raw ache of it. Seems like he’s gotten over the righteous fury that had its hooks in him. Whatever Tango said to him, back in Hels… it must’ve really hit him.

(Wow, plot twist of the century!)

(You know what that is? Growth.)

(Aw, my problematic fave…)

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, “when this is over… I want him to stay with you. I mean, not necessarily you, specifically, just… here. In this world.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. “Isn’t that up to him?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “I mean sure, yeah, he doesn’t have to stay but… you got a good group here. This world isn’t crazy full, it’s not super dangerous or overwhelming… you’ve got some infrastructure set up, a good supply of food and resources. I think it’ll be a nice introduction to normal life for him.”

Jimmy nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I uh, I was actually plannin’ to offer, once this Hels business is over.” He studies Bravo. “What about you?”

A dry smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. “I… think I’m gonna go my own way, at least for a little while. I’ve got some uh, you know, some thinkin’ to do… about stuff. After all this craziness, I think I just need to go hang in a solo world for a bit, you know? Figure my shit out.”

“Oh. Good.” 

“Yeah.”

They fall silent for a minute. Jimmy knows it won’t be long before the other Lifers begin to gather back at the ranch, ready to start the final preparations ahead of their mission to Hels. It’s a daunting task that lies before them, so strangely enough, he’s glad to have had this time with Bravo. If nothing else, he’s at least more certain of Bravo’s intentions.

“You know,” he starts, “you didn’t have to do all this. Soon as you came through the portal, you could’a gone wherever you wanted. So I guess… I’m tryin’ to say thank you. For helpin’ us.”

Bravo snorts. “I uh, I figured I owe you guys one. And y’know, it doesn’t hurt that we’ll be sticking it to Atlas. Fucking guy could stand to be taken down a peg.”

Despite himself, Jimmy grins. “That’s somethin’ we can agree on.”

~*~

Tango hangs limply in his chains, still and silent.

He’s long spent all his tears. Atlas left hours ago, but two guards remain posted outside the iron door. Every now and then, one of them will poke his head back in- just to briefly monitor- before leaving Tango in darkness again. Everything seems to be running like clockwork; the blaze rods floating above his head are snatched away right as the wither effect shudders through his body, triggering more to spawn. Regeneration potions smash at his feet on a regular interval, combating the damage just enough to keep him alive. 

Just another day at Hels Tek.

The physical pain is intense- the prick of thorns in his skin, the sting of ice in his veins, the burn of wither rose in his lungs. Every passing minute seems to stack more weight onto his iron chains and shackles, setting a deep ache into his stiff joints and muscles. But his prison allows him no respite, not even the slightest movement to seek a more comfortable position, to ease the pain, so he retreats from his body altogether and withdraws into his mind.

That’s no escape, either. 

Inside his mind is a storm. Tall, black waves of terror crash against each other- a churning, roiling froth, swallowing up the horizon of his mind’s eye. Despair howls on the wind. Any attempt at rational thought is consumed by it, panic shrieking across the sky like lightning.

There’s no way out.

Tango is a small light on a vast, dark ocean. He fights to stay afloat in the storm’s wake. It is entirely without sense or mercy, tossing him violently, head over heels. Weightless. Insignificant. Worthless.

You were made to suffer.

He opens his mouth to scream, but he has no voice, no breath. There’s only water, bitter and freezing- it rushes to sink him from inside, seeping into the hollows of his bones. Drowning him in his own blood, his own tears.

Everything you did was for nothing.

No! He tries to cling to hope; his friends are coming for him. They’re coming for him, they won’t leave him here, he just needs to hang on-

They’ve abandoned you.

The storm rages, smashing his hope to splinters. He kicks desperately for the surface. They wouldn’t abandon him. Jimmy-

He deserves better.

No, he loves him! He does-

Like a fish loves a hook? You will only cut him.

He can’t breathe. Where’s the surface-

Like a moth loves a flame? You will only burn him.

God, it’s so heavy. So cold-

Like a canary loves a coal mine? You will only choke him.

He’s sinking, slipping ever deeper below the waves. Engulfed in the inky void. There are no stars to guide him here, no sun or moon- the storm has blotted them out. Without them he has no direction; he can’t tell up from down, left from right, right from wrong- 

This is all there is.

He’s so tired…

All you will ever have.

Maybe he could…

Give in.

He stops fighting. The relief is immediate; the water cradles him, extinguishing all his light. There’s no more struggle, no more pain- everything is still and cold and dark. He can hear the storm but it’s far away, thunderclaps mere echoes in his ears… 

Give in.

Nothing can hurt him here…

Give in.

It’s so familiar…

Give in.

… he knows this darkness. It-

Give in.

It was so long ago-

Give in.

So long ago yet-

Give in.

He remembers it. He’s lived with this darkness before, he still carries the scars it left in him. And it never left him, not completely. It stalked him from every shadow, lurked around every corner-

Give-

No. He escaped it before. How did he do it? What did he have back then besides darkness-

You have nothing-

A light. That was all that changed, one small light in the face of the storm-

There’s no way out-

He chose the light. Again and again, against every downpour, every flood-

It’s pointless to-

He remembers. Nerves alight with electricity, breaking through the haze. His limbs become his own again, striking out through the dark, thrashing among the stillness, burning against the cold-

You can’t-

He breaks the surface. Chaos roars around him- the sting of wind and salt in his eyes, water grabbing him up and rolling him, thunder rattling through his bones. Half-blind and gasping, the shock and pain of it all almost sends him under again but he persists, fighting to keep his head above water.

Back then, all it had taken was a single light. The light of his respawn anchor blinking out. It hadn’t been easy; he’d needed the strength to seize his chance to free himself, to free his body as well as his mind. He doesn’t have that same chance right now. His body remains imprisoned, and the only strength he needs is his faith.

So he’ll have to bring his own light.

He reaches out into the black ocean for a fragment of hope- and he finds one. It nudges into his side, hard and small. It might be a short piece of wood, splintered from the whole by the storm. But as he blindly reaches for it, numb fingers scraping against its surface, he recognizes it instantly.

A memory; Jimmy next to him in bed, smiling beneath a curtain of golden feathers.

No, let go-

He curls his claws into it. His memories. That’s something he didn’t have back then, to help him face the darkness. Ten years of a better life, a better way. Ten years of sun and happiness. All the light he created, all the love he found, all the good he did- that’s something they can never take away from him, even if they chain his body forever.

More memories brush up against him. He gathers them up in his arms, stacking each damp board on top of each other, willing the structure to take shape against the crashing waves-

All you know is rage-

His creations; netherbrick towers looming from the mountain, higher than he ever thought he could build- a block of TNT hissing in the water streams of Boombox- the sizzle of golems in the Iron Titan- rooting through the spaghetti redstone underneath Decked Out- anvils launching through the air at Toon Towers- nether stars glittering against a black sky- darting past falling lava in Dare to Flare- hordes of drowned shuffling through tinted glass corridors- the leering silhouette of his cyclops under the Big Eye mountain- gazing up at the ranch with pride in his heart- clever farms- creative games- cozy homes-

Good things aren’t made for you-

His experiences; the softness of his first bed- twisting through the air at breakneck speed with an elytra- the hoofbeats of his horse trotting around their eighth world- sweetness of a golden carrot on his tongue- the big moon glimpsed through the window of his spaceship- redstone torches gripped in blackened claws- the thrill of dodging ravagers- infinite horizons stretching before him- the scent of freshly tilled dirt- fireworks lighting up the night sky- the warmth of sunlight on his skin- freefalling without fear- the comfort of a full belly- music blaring from a jukebox- the deafening shrieks of a dying dragon- boundless freedom- endless fun- ceaseless friendship-

You are alone-

His friends; Xisuma waving from across the ravine they’d just exploded- proudly handing Zedaph a piece of renamed string- Skizz cheering and clapping him on the back- whooping as he and Impulse run beside a ghast in a minecart- Mumbo grinning at him from atop a witch farm- sneaking between quartz pillars with Grian- Impulse and him collapsing in laughter as Bdubs fumes at them from the shipwreck- scrambling to build a TNT launcher shoulder to shoulder with Etho- Cleo- Scar- Pearl- Joe- Bigb- Keralis- Gem- Scott- Iskall- xB- Stress- Doc- Joel- Cub- False- Wels- Lizzie- Ren- Hypno- Jevin- Beef- Martyn- TFC- 

You’re a monster-

His love; staring down at Jimmy through the branches of a tree, a creeper explosion ringing in his ears- soft feathers tickling his cheek- Jimmy’s hand squeezing his own- a wing draped around his shoulder- humming as Jimmy spins him around in their kitchen- strong hands that are impossibly gentle- sunlight catching in Jimmy’s brown eyes- whispers in his ear- Jimmy holding him as he cries- a smile against his lips- the sound of Jimmy’s laughter, light and joyful- patience- kindness- love-

There’s nothing-

A portal filled with ever-changing light.

Give-

No. This won’t break him.

He clings to his memories, letting them carry him. A glowing ship riding the dark storm. The ground beneath his feet becomes solid again, walls rising up to shelter him from the waves as sails unfurl to catch the wind. The ship rocks and groans, surging up to crash back down again and again, but it doesn’t falter.

The storm howls, terrible and hungry, but it can’t reach him anymore. He turns his face into the wind and screams his defiance.

And back in the farm, Tango opens his eyes again.

The room beyond the glass wall of his enclosure looks the same as it always does. Everything is dark and still, lit only by the flickering glow of blaze rods above him and the sole light of his respawn anchor. Regeneration particles dance across his vision, competing with the encroaching blackness of the wither effect. Nothing has changed on the outside, of course- he hasn’t suddenly become freed from his prison, hasn’t miraculously escaped the constant pain that gnaws at him.

But he can see the change in his eyes, mirrored in the glass before him, and he bares his sharp teeth in a fierce, triumphant smile.

~*~

CONTINUED IN PART XI, ACT II

[sallage]

Apologize

One Shots

Warning: This is an (intense?) tickle fic!

Summary: Kidnapped for ransom, Bakugo's captor desired a peaceful coexistence, but his own temper led to a loss of leniency, making his captivity… less tolerable.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler ? (OC)

Words: 2,989

Reading Time: 12 Minutes

A/N: I wrote this yesterday at 1 am so it might be whack but I was totally inspired by @wreckingtickles most recent fic, Say The Line, Bakugo! Hehehe Enjoy!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

“Fuck you, FUCK you, FUHUCK YOUUUU!” 

Spittle sprang from Bakugo’s mouth as one set of hands dug into the bottom of his stomach, right above the waistline of his shorts while a pair of writhing tendrils squirmed over the upper part, occasionally dipping teasingly over his quivering flanks. 

The tendrils seemed to have been shape-shifted hands, as they were connected to a pair of normal looking wrists, but he currently didn’t have the ability to make sense of it.

He glowered down at his powerful body with spiteful eyes as hands and tendrils pulled undignified sounds from his throat. 

His body was pulled taught in an X position on an oversized metal table with holes spaced a few inches apart, dotting either side of his limbs and outlining the length of his body. 

His hands were forced open, fingers trapped under custom made pieces of metal that curved around them like rings, preventing him from closing them into fists. 

A straight and horizontal pole jutted outwards from the holes placed along the edges of the table, parallel to his knees. It had the appearance of a slender clothing rack or rod, featuring a long indent running across the bottom and stretching over the entire length of the table. The pole stood a few feet above the flat surface, its purpose stumping the hysterical blonde.

His feet were bare with long soft strings woven around each of his toes which were attached to a strange, cog like machine that rested on a custom made shelf welded onto the table. Two machines were placed a few inches above both of his ankles.

He pushed his head back, and attempted to shift his body from side to side, despite how useless it was with how tightly he was restrained. 

A voice echoed throughout the large, presumably empty room.

“Are you gonna be nice to me now?” 

Bakugo writhed and growled, the pair of hands steadily squeezed and fluttered their nails all along his lower stomach, scratching at the sensitive spots above his hips and using all four nails to hold, scratch, and undulate across his sides.

“Count your fffffucking days, you dumbass! You’re gonna rr-regret this!”

Bakugo had woken up in the dark, unable to move and quizzically, unable to use his quirk. Before he could muster enough cognitive function to form a coherent thought, light dimly brightened his form, leaving the rest of the room shroud in darkness.

A voice informed him that he’d been kidnapped but no harm was to be inflicted. They both would wait patiently for the ransom money to arrive, then Bakugo would be released shortly after the person behind the voice was granted a generous head start.

Bakugo, of course, couldn’t just lay there without initiating some sort of provocation. 

As a result, he’d bite his bottom lip so hard it could split when random hands and tendrils shot out of holes on either side of his torso, automatically working his sides and belly. 

He shifted a few centimeters to the right when the hand on his left used their nails make infuriatingly ticklish grabbing motions at his flank, then shifted back to the left when nails on his right lazily did the same, trapping him in a weird interpretation of horizontal salsa. 

Tendrils writhed along the upper part of his stomach, each individual one spreading out to tease, pinch or wriggle against the heated skin, his black tee stripped before he’d woken up.

Bakugo exhaled loudly through his teeth, spit flying from his mouth. 

“An answer would be great!”

“Shut UPP!” He demanded, yelping not even a second later as both hands pinched the skin above his hips. 

“Yeeeesh, I’ll take that as a no.”

Bakugo sucked in a large breath when hands poked out of every other hole, staggering themselves along either side of his arms. 

A pair of hands were stationed at his hands, another by his forearms, another at his elbows, and another at his biceps. Each hand was holding a stiff feather, hovering threateningly.

Bakugo chuckled, more out of arrogance than from the ministrations of his tormentors. 

“You think fucking feathers are going to do shit to me, motherfucker?”

There was no response except for the hands, who used their fingers to maneuver the feathers, brandishing the quill instead.

Before Bakugo could release another string of obscenities, all of them started lightly scribbling, dragging, and swirling the quills all along the length of his arms. 

Bakugo spluttered, a strangled noise forced out of his throat. 

The points at his hands traced across the stretch of his fingers, taking turns scraping at each individual one while the other traced the creased lines of his palms. 

He tried desperately to use his quirk, but he couldn’t ignite a single spark.

Quills squiggled down the hardness of his forearms, drawing light cursive shapes up to his wrists, then softly and maddeningly drag them back down in tight zig zag motions.

The ones at his elbows attacked the sensitive inner part, while also branching out and swirling around to outline the skin above and below. 

And finally, quills traced and outlined the contours of the twitching muscles that made up his biceps. They teased all over the flexing muscles, lingering over the sensitive skin just above his armpits and using repetitive motions to outline the top rim.

Bakugo’s struggling increased, as did the volume of his instigations. He hatefully glared at the hands as they found sensitive spots all along his arms.

“How about neeeoooooww?” A pause. “You gonna be nice to me now?” 

Bakugo shook his head. “You- y- Geh!” He flinched and jolted, grinding his teeth in frustration, unable to even curl his hands into fists to expel some of the ticklish energy. 

“Geh- get these damned things- aH-ooffah me!” 

The quills posted at his biceps and hands were causing unexpected problems. They lightly teased at the skin above his pits, only occasionally lifting away to prevent desensitization. Every time they came back, he jumped and bit the inside of his cheek. 

The ones at his palms weren't any better. He couldn’t believe how the sharp scrapes and flicks made him writhe in mirthful frustration as they followed the creases that fanned out across the top, center and bottom of his palms. 

His scrunched face bore the resemblance of someone who’d stepped on a Lego after they’ve already stubbed their toe.

“What’s the magic wooooord?”

“J-jump ahahaff a fuckin’ bridge!” Bakugo spat, angry and strained veins visible and pulsing along his neck. 

“That was definitely more than one word. And none of them were magic.”

Startlingly, two grey medium sized balls resting on a short and skinny flexible rod popped out of the holes on either side of his neck, the hole being perfectly fitted by their circular base.

Bakugo jolted and pushed his face to the side, watching as the ball slowly spun around, revealing only one thing on its glossy surface.

A realistic looking mouth with a tongue lolling out of it like a dog.

“W-Whuh-” 

He was cut off when, like a bendable lamp, they craned down on either side and began kissing, licking, and nibbling along the sensitive skin. 

One nibbled a ticklish path up from the base of his neck, under his jaw, and just below his ear, while the other nipped and licked up and down his collar bones and the base of his neck.

They each attacked their respective spots, punching an embarrassing high pitched squeak out of Bakugo. He writhed and tried to shrink and scrunch his neck, but only managed to push the side of his face to his shoulder, which consequently left the other side open to a more precise attack.

“NeeyaHAHAhaha WHAhahat theha- NahaAHAHahah! f-fucking grohohoss! STAHahahahap!”

Bakugo was caught in ticklish limbo. He jerked his head from side to side, the action yielding not one second of relief. 

“Well, you told me to jump off a bridge! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Juhuhump AHAhahaff it!” Bakugo spasmed and pushed his hips the few centimeters that were allotted off the table, trying to get away from the prodding hands that tore his attention away when they veered off course and pinched his hips. He jolted with yell when tendrils squirmed and drew small, probing circles over the bottom of his ribs.

“That’s pretty bad advice. If I jumped off a bridge, then who would press this button?” 

Two claws erupted from the holes at the edges of the table, smoothly gliding up the metal pole. The indent allowed them to move effortlessly along the length, mimicking the motion of a makeshift claw machine. 

As they reached the position above his legs, the claws wavered momentarily before awkwardly attempting to pivot their five, hand-like pincers over his knees.

Bakugo's curses echoed loudly throughout the room as the claws painstakingly adjusted themselves, each movement slow and methodical, akin to an arcader angling a claw machine over a coveted prize, before slowly descending. 

Despite Bakugo's efforts to avoid the inevitable, his squirms and wiggles proved futile. With a final touch, they gently landed on his bare knees, their up and down jellyfish-like movements sending a wave of ticklish spasms through his legs.

Bakugo would have done a spit take if he was drinking… Well, anything.

“PPFFFTNhahahHAHA! oOOooh fahahk! AGHH Waah- NOHOHOHO!” That last "no" was punctuated with a guttural growl as the assault to his knees worsened, the claws now spinning and scratching over his convulsing skin. 

He was having so much trouble keeping it together, and none of these spots were overly ticklish in the first place.

Individually, at least.

“Y’know, I was okay with enjoying a quiet night while we waited for the pros to wire the money, Maybe share a laugh or two, but you couldn't go a single dang minute without insulting me.” 

The voice paused. The only sounds echoing in the room were of Bakugo’s struggles, restrained giggles, grunts, and huffs.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you apologize, I’ll pull everything. sound good?”

Bakugo shook his head, mostly out of mirth and perseverance as the mouths relentlessly attacked any open spot they could find.

 “Ihihih- AGHH! Ihihihm not ApohohoHAHAhlogizing to you, fuhcker! Eat shihihit!” 

A sigh of faux disappointment. 

“Alrighty then.” 

Two hands shot out of the holes on either side of Bakugo’s hips. His eyes widened.

“No! dohohnt you fuckin’- NOHOHOH, YOU FREHEHEAK!” 

Two hands, armed with massager guns, ran the vibrating, punching tips all over Bakugo’s pelvis.

They pressed the tools onto his hip bones and rounded to the sensitive spaces on top and underneath, even expanding to the quaking skin below his belly button and back again.

“OHO FUCK! SHIHIHIT! SHIT! STAHAHAP! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!”

“Apoooologize.”

“NOHOHOHOHO!”

"Okie."

Hands shot out of every hole along his thighs.

They bent and and squeezed along the pressure points above his knees, scribbled over the lower inner muscles, scritched all along the middle, moved up to tease the skin along the legs of his shorts, and pressed their fingers and thumbs into the tendons of his upper inner thighs. 

Despite the threat to his neck, Bakugo threw his head back, guffaws pumping out of him like an out of control fire hose.

“FFFFFAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAK! WHAHAHA! OH SHIHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP! AAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! HAHAHA!”

“A! - P O L O! - G I! - Z E!”

The voice spelled out the word in a cheerleader chant, sounding like they were busting a move with each letter.

“FAHAHAHAK YOU!” Bakugo screamed, face cracked in half with ticklish glee.

“Woooooooooow, you’re a glutton for punishment, arent you? Dont worry, buddy, I got you.” 

Two hands shot up from the holes, one over each of his armpits. 

Bakugo blanched.

“NUH- NOHOHO! FUCK NO! DOHOHONT YOU FUCKIN’ DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHO NONONONO!AHAHAHAHAHAH! WAAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHP! STOP STAHAP STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAP!” 

Bakugo absolutely lost it when the hands descended, pressing portable electric back massagers with rotating bristled feet against the center of his armpits, furthering the overwhelming sensations by rotating them slowly over the expanse of his slick, sweating hollows.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAD! AHAHAH! STOOOOOOP! STAHAHAHAHAP, YOU FUCKING BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

Bakugo thrashed against the restraints. His knees twitched, his hips bounced and his head whipped from side to side, up and down, spraying small droplets of useless sweat. 

“STAHAHAHHAP! GEHEHET THEM OFF! GEHEHET THEM- AHH! WHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! HAHAHOW MANY OF YOU FUHUHHUKERS ARE DOWN THEHEHEHERE?!” 

“You’re truly doing this to yourself, man.” 

Bakugo was too hysterical to pay attention to whatever nonsense they were spewing, his mind hell bent on getting the tickling to stop.

“YOU MOHTHERFUHCKER! STAHAHAHAHAHAP! ILLKILLYOU! ILL FAHAHAHAKING DRAG YOU OUT OF- AAAAH! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO!” 

“Now you’re just being impossible.” 

“WHAHAHAHAHA WHAHA- WHOA WAIT! WAHAHAIT WAITWAITNOWAIT!” 

Bakugo helplessly thrashed as hands shot out of the holes on either sides of his ribs. 

A wide array of probes varying in length and size stuck out from a mechanical saucer like disc, attached on a rotatable silver ball on a short metal handle. The hands positioned the disk so the probes hovered menacingly over his ribs. 

To his absolute horror, the hands pressed a button on the side of the handle, and the probes whirled to life. Circling, jabbing, and wiggling in all different directions. The whole thing looking like some whack, tortuous hair diffuser.

“Aaaaaand~”

“NOHOHOHOHO! FUCK YOU! DONT! DOHONT YOU FAHAHAHKIN- WAIT! WAITWAITWAIT-"

The hands pressed the evil diffusers onto Bakugo’s ribs, the mechanical terrors covering most of the tortured blonde’s ribcage. 

“Touchdoooooown!” 

Bakugo threw his head back and arched his spine, a high pitched scream ripping out of his throat before the intensity turned it silent. 

“WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHA————————————-————————————————!” 

His voice gave way to raspy desperation as he ran low on air, but had more than enough laughter to give. 

With a resentful scowl, Bakugo watched as chaos gripped his body, tormenting him with unforgivable precision.

He let out a frustrated, gravely scream and tossed his head back once more when the hands started moving the mechanical diffuser over the entirety of his reddening ribcage. 

He felt the little probes dig, wiggle, rotate and goose his skin, the sensation like a million marching ants frantically scattering all over him.

They moved again, settling at the top of his ribs. They pressed the saucer down so the protruding rim was flush against him. The moving probes sunk into his skin, torturing the nerves from top to bottom and between the bones.

“NAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA! OKAYSTOP! OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYYYYHAYHAYHAAAYYYSTOOP! STOPSTOPSTAAAAAAAAHAAAAHHAP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I'M SHAHAHHARY! I'MFUCKINGSORRY! JUHUHUST- PFFFTTT! STAHAHAHAP! GEHEHAHAHAHA AHAHAHFF HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GEHEHEHEHEHEH IHIHIT- AAHH————————————————————————————————-“

“Hmmm, I dunno. You’ve been really mean to me since you woke up. For like, no reason.”

“WAHAHAHHAHAHAHAT?! FAHAHAH- I FAHAHAHHAAKIN SAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH———————- I SAIHIHIHAHAHAHAHHAH—————ISAIDIWASSAHHRY!”

“Yeah sure, but you really hurt my feelings. I might need some time to really think about it.” 

“OHOHOH MAAHAHAGAHAHAHD!! SHIT SHIT SHHIHIHIT! AAAAHHHH! NAAAHH FAHAHAHK YOU! YOUFUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT! ILLFUCKINGMURDER- NOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUUHUHUHU! STAHAHAHAP THIHIHIS! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA————HAAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!” 

“See, why would you say all that when I’m trying to forgive you?” A loud sigh. “I guess you’ll just have to lay there and think about why that wasn't a good idea.” 

Two pairs of hands shot out from the holes on either side of his feet. 

Through his uncontrollable tears, he saw his life flash before his eyes.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHO WAAHAHAHIT! I'MSORRY! IM FUCKING SAHAHAHAHRY! PLEHEHEHESE! PLEASE DOHOHOHONT! DOHOHOOOOOOOONT!” 

Two hands on either side held oval shaped wet-hair detangling bushes while the others were adorned with grooming gloves.

He expected them to attack, but was caught off guard when the mechanical cog devices over his ankles whirled to life. He could only shake his head as the string looped around his toes went minimally slack, only for all of them to start threading through his toes.

“WAHAHAHAHAHA! OOOOOHOHOHOH FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!! HOLYSHIT! FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA————-HAHAK! PLEASE! PLEHHEEEE———"

“Don’t worry, I’ll try you again in an hour or so. Then we can revisit your attitude problem. Ciao!”

“WHAHIT! WHAITWAITPLEASEDONT-”

The hands struck.

The grooming glove scrubbed and waved vigorously at the top of his foot, scrubbing and scratching at the sensitive balls and undersides of his toes. The wet hair brush took care of the rest, brushing wildly against the arches, heals and the sides of his feet. The other foot wasnt better off, dealing with the same ministrations but in opposite positions. 

At some point, a hand popped up behind his head, equipped with a flexible metal pronged head massager that to the blonde’s utter bewilderment, tickled like hell and sent goosebumps roaring all along his skin.

Pushing his head up only maneuvered the massager to slink its torturous prongs down the back of his neck, up the back of his head, and behind his ears. Which was arguably, so much worse. 

So he forced his head down, in control of it for about two seconds before he lifted it up again in mirth, the sloppy kisses, licks and nibbles from the mouths never ceasing their unrelenting attack.

Amongst all the calamity, he jumped out of his skin when he felt hands tracing and scratching up and down his spine and along the outer edges of his lower back. His eyes widened in painful disbelief as he realized there were holes underneath the ungodly table.

His back, sides, and hamstrings were targeted from below, successfully clouding his comprehension of reality.

All he could do was take it,

“WHOOAAAHOHOHOHOMYFUCKING GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD! PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEMAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAP! MAKETHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHP IMFUCKING SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY! IMSOFAHAHAKINGSORRY!"

And laugh,

“PPFFFTTNAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—————————-ICANTFUCKINGDOTHIS! OHMYGAD I CHAHAHAHNT! ICANT! OHOHOHOHOOO, I CAHAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA--------!"

And laugh,

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! WHOOAAAHAHAHAHAHA! KAHAHAHAH! WAAAHAHAHAH! PLEEEHEHE—————HEHEHEHEHEHE———————HEHHESE! AHAHAHA——————! FAAAAAA———————HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” 

And laugh.

"H-----------HAH---------------! AAHHH-------------------HAHAHAHAHHAA! FAHA---------------------! PLE--- PLEHE------------------!"

Bakugo’s mind rolled. His red, raw, and sweaty body buzzed with electricity as the tools glided across his abused skin with ease. 

He wailed and apologized, cursed and thrashed, but none of it was enough. 

More often than not, his laughter turned silent, reminding him that he would continue to lie there, forced to take it for the next hour, completely at the mercy of his own damn sensitivity.

[the-broken-truth]

Mafia AU: The Ramshackle Bartender [Male Yuu Variant]

Summary/Inspiration/Credit/Thanks: [Link] by @sweetbunpura [Hope you like it, Boss.]

Male Yuu Variant OC [My Art]: [Link] (I'll draw Human Grim Later)

Word Count: 3,906

[Ramshackle Bar & Kitchen - Tuesday - 7:25 P.M.]

The pale, tanned fingers of a fingerless, gloved hand grasped the bottom of the sign attached to the door by a string woven into two holes at the sign's upper corners. The sign was then flipped around until the words "We're Open - Come On In" were facing the inside, while the "We're Closed - Come Back Later" was facing the outside world. This was to inform passersby that the Ramshackle Bar was closed at that hour and they wouldn't find the liquid courage or buzz to unwind from a stressful day on this day.

The floorboards of the bar were pressed against the soles of black boots that walked along them as those same gloved hands reached to the window blinds drawstrings to lower them to the sills before the rod was turned to close the blinds. This process was repeated 5 more times until all 6 of the bar's windows were closed before an exhausted exhale escaped the scarred lips of the young man as he stuffed his hands into his pockets before turning on the heel of his boot and walking over to the bar where a younger male sat counting from the register tray as well as the tip jar from the day's patrons.

"How are we looking today, Grim?" The Head Bartender asked the younger version of his bloodline who smiled up at him after the last bill was counted.

"We got 53,000 Madols from the register & 17,500 Madols from the Tip Jar. I think this is going to be the best day for this week since we've been getting a whole lot of walking money bags coming in that Phone Addict's Videos." Grim, the younger male, explained that he had placed the Tip Money in a separate stack from the rest of the money. "What's the move, Big Bro?"

"How much do we owe Crewel?" The Elder asked as Grim jumped out of the stool he was sitting on, reaching under the bar for the locked cash box he was looking for, and placed it on the bar's surface before pulling the small silver key from around his neck and opening it revealing stacks of money secured in different colored bands and a small black notebook.

Grim reached into the box and grabbed the notebook, opened it on the bookmarked page, and scanned his blue eyes down the page before he found the information his elder brother asked for.

"We still gotta pay 186,956 Madols before Dad lets us own this place. We already got this month's payment of 20,000 Madols ready to give to him for the Family Dinner this Sunday." Grim explained as he looked into the box to look at the stack of money with the '20,000' Money Mark in a Red Band.

"Take 10,000 from the Tip Money and add it to this month's payment money; it wouldn't hurt to send him another 10,000 Madols with this month's payment since the rest of the bills have been paid and the supplies for the bar and kitchen have been paid for; we're just waiting on delivery at this point." The Elder Brother said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, using his thumb to open it to reveal the watch's face as well as the picture of Crewel, Grim, and himself on the day they were adopted from the orphanage. "It's almost 8. I better get started on the drinks."

"I can start with the food, Yuu." Grim said as he counted out the proper amount of money, placed it in a band with a stamp, and placed it in the box with the other payment money before he returned the notebook to the box, closed & locked it, and returned it to where he got it from before getting a second lock box to place the rest of the money inside.

"Thanks, Grim." Yuu said as he tugged on his fingerless gloves before he gathered the materials for the drinks while his younger brother headed off to the kitchen to start cooking the food for tonight's event.

[Timeskip: 7:55 P.M.]

Yuu placed the final drink on the bar's surface closest to the entrance; knowing who was going to arrive first since he always entered the bar before everyone else, it's just who he was. He then added a metal toothpick, piercing two strawberries on the rim of the glass filled with the creamy pink drink, all while the smell of food flowed from the kitchen through the serving window. Yuu looked over his shoulder to see his younger brother prepping 24 bowls of white rice on the large table in the middle of the kitchen, with steak stripes cooking on the griddle stove at low-medium heat behind him.

Yuu pulled out his pocket watch, opened it with his thumb once again to lift the cover, and checked the time: 7:59 P.M. and the second hand was coming close to the full minute mark.

That's when the sound of tires coming to a stop and multiple car doors opening filled Yuu's ears.

He closed his pocket watch just as the door of the bar flew open and the bell above the door rang as the Former Crimson Tyrant marched into Ramshackle Bar with his gloved hand gripping his scepter while calling to his underlings behind him.

"For the last time, we're not doing that, Cater." Riddle exhaled as he walked over to the bar where the drinks waiting and Yuu placed his fingers along the side of the glass and pushed it over to Riddle as the Leader of Heartslabyul. reached out for his drink as the orange-haired boy with a diamond in his face called out to his leader.

"Come on, Riddle! It's a perfect idea to raise more funds!" Cater called out to his leader from behind Heartslabyul's Vice.

"Not everyone is addicted to MagiCam like you are, Cater!" Riddle exclaimed as one hand grasped his drink and the other held his scepter.

"A majority is, Boss." Cater smiled, but Riddle just exhaled while shaking his head before he lifted the drink to his lips, taking and sip before sighing in relief when the favor hit his tongue, looking at Yuu with a softness in his blue eyes.

"Perfect. Just as it's meant to be. You know exactly what I need when I need it, Yuu. I knew I could count on you." Riddle said with a small smile to the Bartender of Ramshackle, who placed his hand over his heart in a mock bow.

"I am at your service, My Queen. Please, take a load off; dinner shall be served soon." Yuu said.

"Hamburgers?" Riddle asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Never on a Tuesday, My Queen." Yuu clarified with a shake of his head causing Riddle to exhale in relief.

"Greatly appreciated, Yuu." Riddle took another sip of his drink before turning to walk off to his booth, "This day was stressful and the night will be even more so. I shall need more of these."

"I am waiting for your call, My Queen." Yuu's silver eyes looked at the Clover-Faced Vice Leader before sliding his drink to him who smiled at him and took the drink before sliding a Tupperware Container of desserts to Yuu across the bar. "Thanks, Trey."

No, thank you." Trey said as he held up his drink to take a sip, "I needed this." With that, Trey walked off to join Riddle in the booth.

"Hey, Yuu-kun! What kind of magic is Grim-chan making in the kitchen?!" Cater asked with his phone secured in his right hand.

"He's making Beef Steak Stripe & Rice Bowls with Garlic Steak Sauce with Bread Rolls with Honey Butter & Steak Fries on the side." Yuu said as he gently pushed Cater's Drink to the Diamond's open hand.

"Oh! I can't wait!" Cater smiled as he walked off to his favorite selfie spot in Ramshacke's Serving Area.

Yuu watched as the first two people he interacted with in the Heartslabyul Mafia walked over to him with light bruises on their faces, "Let me guess: You both got on Riddle's Nerves?"

"It was Ace's Fault!" Deuce barked out.

"No, it wasn't!" Ace barked back.

"If you had done your part in painting the roses red, then we wouldn't have been punished." Deuce glared at Ace.

"Well, maybe you should have reminded me!" Ace growled at his fellow first year.

"I did! Over 5 Times!!!" Deuce growled as the two of them glared daggers at each other before Yuu snapped his fingers to gain their attention and slid their drinks over to them.

"Stop barking like hounds and drink these; I don't need any rolling heads on my clean wood floors." Yuu said to his friends who huffed, grabbed their drinks, and walked off to their table.

[Timeskip: 8:20 P.M.]

Yuu placed the final drink of the new set of 3, one of them being non-acholic before he leaned against the wall near the serving window with his arms folded as his keen ears picked up on the sound of another car pulling up; 3 doors opened but one door slammed closed before striding steps marched for the door with the sound of angry ranting and amused snickering before the door slammed open and the Leader of Savanaclaw marched in with the heels of his combat boots hammered against the wooden floor before he reached the bar, snatched his drink and took a gulp; shivering in his skin as the burning alcohol burned his throat, sent chills down his spine, and throughout his body.

"Who pissed you off this time, Siree?" Yuu asked as he slid another drink to Leona after he finished off the one in his grip before he placed the empty glass on the bar and grabbed the new one with a growling exhale.

"Something is wrong with that fucking mirror, I swear to the Seven! I got some useless ass members in my crew and it pisses me off to no end, Herbivore!" He growled out as he ran his empty hand through his hair before huffing, "Where's the fucking bottle?"

"Right here, Siree." Yuu said as he placed the bottle on the table which was quickly snatched up by Leona.

"Let me know when that runt is done with dinner." Leona snarled as he slapped 300 Madols on the bar before marching off to the couch and started drinking his frustrations away as he refilled the glass in his possession with the bottle. Yuu exhaled as he placed the money in the secondary lock box before he called out.

"Ruggie, step away from the kitchen door." Yuu's voice caused the stealth hyena to freeze up as he attempted the push open the kitchen door to steal a few bites of dinner from Grim.

"Come on, just a bite!" Ruggie pouted.

"No." Yuu deadpanned.

"But, I'm hungry! I didn't even eat lunch!" Ruggie whined.

"There are donuts in the microwave in the break room. Eat those." Yuu said as he started cleaning the glass in his hand that Leona drank from a while ago.

"I'll marry you one day, Yuu!" Ruggie yelled as he bolted into the break room to scarf down the donuts.

"Can I be your best man?" Jack questioned with a smirk as he grabbed his drink.

"Sorry, that wedding has been canceled." Yuu said with a sideways smirk.

Jack simply chuckled as he walked off, allowing Yuu to finish cleaning the glass before he looked up at the clock on the wall.

'They are also going to be here… Better do my hand exercises."

[Timeskip: 8:30 P.M.]

The bell above the door rings rapidly singaling that someone opened the door rather quickly and rushed footsteps zoomed in on Yuu as he had his back turned to the door while cleaning one of the tables to keep himself busy when the ear-piercing chant of 'SHRIMPY!!!' called out before he shot out his right fist in a backhand motion, it came in contact with someone cheek and sent them crashing to the ground with a grunt; Riddle watching from his booth smirked at the sight before looking over at Yuu.

"I'll give that one an 8.5." Riddle smiled at Yuu.

"Thank you, My Queen." Yuu looked at Riddle before glaring down at the mentally disturbed man on the ground rubbing his cheek. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"You're so mean, Shrimpy! I just wanted a hug!" The sharp-toothed man whined like a child.

"I've warned you on numerous occasions not to try to squeeze me because I hate being touched without permission. It's your fault I knocked the hell out of you, Floyd." Yuu said as he grabbed his rag and walked back behind the bar while looking at the other two men standing by the bar with their drinks in hand.

"The Prefect has warned you multiple times about suddenly touching him, Floyd." Jade Leech smiled before taking a sip from his glass.

"It's not my fault that Shrimpy is so damn huggable!!!" Floyd yelled as he stood up and walked over to his drink, grabbing it, and chugging it down.

"Hello, My Dear Prefect. How are you doing this evening?" The Head of Octavinelle, Azul Ashengrotto, questioned Yuu as the bartender leaned against the wall with his arms folded.

"It would have been better if you didn't send numerous texts to my phone, asking me the same damn question when I have given you the same answer to that question more than 100 times." Yuu huffed out the last part but it only caused Azul to chuckle at his words.

"Come now, Prefect. You would have a less stressful life if you just signed over control of Ramshackle to me and come work under me; you can keep working here and I'll even keep the name the same, it will just be a mere branch to the Mostro Lounge. I'll give you more benefits, days off, higher pay, whatever you want, Yuu; all you have to do is sign the contract and work for me. Join us under Octavinelle's Banner." Azul smiled at Yuu who looked at him with an uninterested look.

"Does a chicken wear underwear?" Yuu asked.

"To the best of my knowledge, no. Chickens do not wear underwear." Azul answered.

"And, there's your answer." Yuu said before he walked off.

"I'll get you one day, Yuu. You'll join Octavinelle." Azul swore before taking a swing of his drink.

[Time: 8:35 P.M.]

"Jewel!!!" The door opened up and rapid footsteps blotted at Yuu before thin arms were wrapped around Yuu's Waist and a face was nuzzling into his chest, causing him to look down at the white-haired Head of the Scarabia Mafia.

"Hello, Kalim." Yuu greeted to smaller male with a smile smile, much to the disdain of a certain twin.

"Hey! What the hell, Shrimpy?! You won't let me get a squeeze, but that Sea Otter gets a squeeze AND a nuzzle?! That's not fair!!!" Floyd called from his place at the table that Octavinelle loved using in Ramshackle's Bar.

"Because I like him more than you, Floyd." Yuu confessed in a deadpanned voice as he lightly patted the back of the Asim Heir as the door opened again and Jamil Viper walked in with a suitcase. "Well met, Jamil."

"Well met, Prefect. How's business?" Jamil asked while claiming his regular drink and taking a good swing out of it before collecting Kalim's Drink (Not a drop of Adult Beverage for the Sunbeam) and walking over to their table. "Kalim, leave the Prefect alone. He is very busy. Come enjoy the drink he made you."

"Coming, Jamil!" Kalim cheered as he gave Yuu one more hug before following Jamil to their table, leaving Yuu to continue what he was doing while Jade was patting his brother's back as Floyd cried about how unfair his shrimpy was.

[Timeskip: 8:40 P.M.]

"Big Brother, the food is ready and I have them in heat shields." Grim stopped for a while before he started sniffing the air with a raised eyebrow, "Why do I smell overly expensive perfume and designer clothes?" Grim questioned as he walked out of the kitchen while taking off his apron as his elder brother was finishing off 3 more drinks, placing them on the bar before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pocket watch to view the time like some badass who doesn't have time for a lot of shit.

[Newsflash: He doesn't.]

"Considering the time, that must mean that Pomefiore is about to wake in." And the moment he said that, the door opened and an overly enthusiastic called out to him like a lover in one of those love stories.

"MON TRICKSTER! THE BREATH OF MY LIFE! I HAVE COME TO RESCUE YOU FROM THE BORDOM THAT IS YOUR LIFE! SHOULD YOU ACCEPT LOVELY VIL'S INVITATION AFTER THIS NIGHT'S MEETING, EVERYTHING SHALL FIT TOGETHER LIKE PUZZLE PIECES!!!" Rook called out but Yuu just handed him a drink and walked off, "Oh, you are so cold, Mon Trickster! Why must you hide your beautiful heart from us?!"

"Why must you hurt everyone's ears with your loud ass voice, you walking French stick?!" Leona called from the couch.

"I was certain that was Sebek's Job." Yuu said before placing drinks for Vil and Epel on the bar and turned around as the two of them walked over to claim them.

"Dear Potato, I can see that you have made a few changes to your establishment." Vil said as he looked around Ramshackle, noticing the subtle changes that were made since the last time he was here, such as the replaced floor boards & new wallpaper. "It's a shame that you didn't change the color, however…"

"We've been over this, Vil. Gray is Grim's Favorite Color so we went with his choice." Yuu said as he started cleaning another glass.

"Are you sure it ain't because that's the color of his hair?" Epel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"His choice, not my place to ask. It's only fair he got to choose." Yuu said.

"Selfless… That is truly one of the most beautiful traits about you, Sweet Potato. I shall be in my booth. Thank you for the drink, as always." With that, Vil walked away as Epel sat on one of the bar stools and started chatting up the Crewel Brothers.

[Timeskip: 8:50 P.M.]

"Is Idia not going to attend this time?" Yuu asked the Younger of the Shroud Brothers, Ortho as he hovered in front of him.

"Not this time around. Something was wrong with the Hades Tablet and he just wanted me to drop this off for the meeting." Ortho says as he hands Yuu a folder, trusting that he will not open it but hand it to Riddle when it is time for the meeting to start.

"I'll be sure to give it to Riddle when the Housewarden Meeting starts." Yuu said before placing the folder near the lock boxes on the second row of the bar.

"Oh, Big Brother wanted me to ask if you and Grim were going to come over this weekend for the Gaming and Anime Marathon?" Ortho asked with excitement laced in his voice.

"Sorry, Ortho, not this time. Grim and I have a Family Dinner this weekend and we have other business to attend to, but we'll attempt to make it there next week." Yuu explained.

"Oh… That's unfortunate. Well, I'll tell Big Brother; I'm sure he will understand. See you later, Big Brothers!" Ortho said as he hugged Yuu and Grim before hovering out of the door.

Yuu exhaled and looked at the clock.

Just one left.

[Timeskip: 8:58 P.M.]

"It's almost time for the meeting! Where the hell is the Lizard and his Minions?!" Leona growled from his seat at the meeting table as Grim walked over with the food, placing a serving of food in front of everyone before placing the rest of the food before placing 2 more at the empty seats: Only the Housewardens and their Vices were placed at the table while the rest of their members were upstairs in Yuu's Apartment.

"He'll be here, soon." Yuu said as he handed the folder to Riddle, then walked over to the bar to collect the lock boxes and headed to the door leading to his apartment. "We're heading upstairs. Tell Sebek and Silver to head upstairs when Diasomnia gets here." With that, Yuu and Grim disappeared through the door to head upstairs with the others.

Fate must love playing some sick jokes because the moment the door closed, the front door opened and the members of the Diasomnia Mafia entered with the Feared Malleus Draconia leading them.

"About fucking time you got here, Lizard." Leona growled but Malleus was looking around.

"Where is the Child of Man? I see the drinks he prepared but where is he and his brother?" Malleus asked.

"You just missed them. They headed upstairs before the meeting started." Riddle said while looking through the folder Idia supplied.

"THE HUMAN DID NOT WAIT FOR WAKA-SAMA?! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?!" Sebek barked as he grabbed his drink from the bar while Silver did the same.

"Oh, shut it, Crocodile! Stop yelling in Shrimpy's Bar!" Floyd barked out.

[Yes, I know that Floyd is not a Vice but he and Jade are twins… and Yuu didn't want him in the apartment after what happened last time.]

"Let's just go upstairs, Sebek. You can yell at Yuu and Grim." Silver yawned before taking a drink.

"I SHALL DO THAT! I MUST PROTECT WAKA-SAMA'S HONOR!!!" With that, Sebek pushed through the door with a very sleepy Silver following behind him and the door closed once again.

Lilia and Malleus grabbed their drinks from the bar before joining the table, looking at the meal that Grim prepared for everyone. The Mafia Sectors decided to eat before they started the meeting; no one liked cold rice or meat.

[Location Change: Yuu's Apartment - Home Office]

"You're both coming to the Family Gathering this weekend, right?"

"Yes, Dad. We've never missed one before." Grim called out to his adopted father speaking to them over the speakerphone.

"It's good to know that my puppies remember their old man even when they are running a business."

"Don't worry, Father; we have everything under control. We're not gonna forget about you, even after we pay off what we owe you." Yuu said.

"I told you pups that you didn't OWE me anything. You were the ones who wanted to pay me back for raising you when I didn't want you to. I adopted you boys because I felt attached to you and I have grown to love you as if you were linked to me by blood."

"We know, Dad. We just wanted to show you that we are going to be responsible for everything." Grim said.

"I know, Grim. Just… Just don't overwork yourselves. I don't want my sons getting sick…or further dragged into Mafia Business."

"We know, Father. We'll see you this weekend." Yuu said while looking at a picture on his desk.

"I'll see you soon. I love you, boys."

"We love you, too, Dad. See ya later." Grim said before Yuu hung up the phone.

[END]

[tgirlrobot]

Karyn Felicidae, Third Floret was a very sneaky floret. She knew that if Mistress had caught her in the act she'd probably be punished in an absolutely embarassing way, but she didn't want to dwell on that while she carefully cut a small piece of ribbon. The last time Maryn was caught with scissors, and god forbid, cutting some material, she was put into a doll-body with no motor control for a week! Mistress was especially mean to her during that time, making her say such embarrassing things like how she "loved her Mistress so much" and that "she would always be a good girl" and and and...

A small mental hiss of xenodrugs stopped the thoughts from going off-course. her spine-friend, her Haustoric Implant, she reminded herself. She needed to stay on travk while she built this... what was it she was building again? No matter. She laid the ribbon into a bath of ichor-black goop before placing it on the handheld structure, smiling as it contracted into a small, loose curl before the substance grew transparent, showing the shining silk underneath.

"Darn 'fini and their dumb... stuff." Karyn muttered to herself as she placed a green rod into the contraption, nodding to herself as she watched everything warp around it, accepting the additional mass and shifting it about, adding onto the figure in front. This was absolutely helping her escape plans of finally rejoining her crew before launching her attack on the stars-darned evil plants that gave her this pretty dress and fancy collar...

Who knows what they've done to her head, though! She might be a brainless slave working in the mines and all this was right now was a machination of her mind! Perishing that simply idioitic thought, Karyn simply fitted the final piece of glass into the masterpiece of an escape tool before leaning back, taking in the full thing in all its two-foot wonder. Green strips of material swung around and around, creating ropes and intricate patterns implying a greater depth to the humanoid model. Moss and red ribbon laid on the top, creating a facsimile of terran hair. Half-moon glasses sat in front of a pair of diamond gemstone eyes.

"Perfect!" A voice harmonied Karyn's, looking upon the mkdel figure of herself. "Look at all that detail, pet! Aren't you proud~!"

Karyn turned around to see her. Mistress Dandel Felicidae, 12th bloom, clapping a pair of woven vined hands together excitedly. The doll in her hands being a significantly downscaled version of the being towering over her. "Fear me, plant lady! My escape is assured woth this!" Karyn pushed the doll towards Dandel, who simply laughed in reaction.

"Of course it is, sweetie! Now come on, let's get you to go for a bath~ then you'll totally get rescued by your pinnates!" Dandel replies, picking up the doll with a single vine, to add to the collection on a shelf of "escape tools", like the adorable knitted sweater she got for her Coreday, or a bookmark made so she wouldn't lose her place in the adorable floret's domestication contract.

"Can we use the purple class A shampoo again? Please?" Karyn batted her eyes as the both walked to the bathroom. "The overnet said it makes me immune to head scritches! And the "class A" meant "Anti-Affini"!"

Dandel laughed jovially. Making a closed overnet where it was only her and the floret was the best decision ever. "Of course petal. You're surely going to be unstoppable if you're immune to head-scritches~"

Funnily enough, Karyn Felicidae was never immune to head scritches, and lost tonight's game of "can she escape the compact" (she never wins~)

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: That Old and Rotten Crick

(Art by @stranger-chads aka @bluejay-makes!)

First detailed here and further built upon here, the Rotten Crick has been plaguing my thoughts. The downside of working in a store that sells fishing gear, I suppose. This also is a departure from my normal intro blocks, since there's not that much more lore to go through!

Rotten Crick is a fisherman first and a fighter second, but of course a creature like him has to get good at filleting whatever monstrosity he drags ashore, alongside whatever assassins that enemy fey send his way. He also presents a very strange figure in any campaign he may appear in; he's immensely creepy and unquestionably evil, but he's entirely passive in the evil he does and can even benefit a community he enters! Not only can he teach men to fish, he can give them all the tools they need to do so AND defend them from greater threats at sea. Anyone who takes up his bargains may think they're being Devil Deal'd, but the truth is that there's an entirely different sort of danger in accepting his assistance that almost never affects the life of the person he's helped.

Rather than being a mundane source of fantastical danger (like a local lord using magic and conjured beasts to secure power), he's a fantastical source of mundane danger. He directly encourages and enables overfishing, water pollution, and ecological collapse, things that adventuring parties can't exactly solve by punching the right creature into submission. By the time the damage begins to manifest in a noticeable way, it's often too late to stop. Even if the party defeats or chases off the Old Crick, it could be years before the damage he does is undone, if it ever is, though the intervention of nature mages, other Fey, and spirits of the wilds may at least help clean and dress the wound.

If a DM wants to use the Old Crick to be a true and painfully clear source of immediate danger rather than a long-term danger, having him be a threat to local sapient sea life (such as water fey and merfolk) is fully possible. His animosity towards sea life peaks when he's faced with "betrayers," and he'll go out of his way to concoct terrible plans to cause their deaths.

Before we get to the man himself, though, we need to look at his two most famous pieces of equipment: The Tomb of Karaphas and the Tidepool Reaper.

The Tomb of Karaphas

Minor Artifact

Aura: Moderate Conjuration, Enchantment, and Transmutation

CL: 18th

Weight: 8lbs

Slot: —

This deceptively normal-looking but magical tacklebox contains everything an enterprising fisherman could need to do their work but a boat. The Tomb magically generates mundane supplies such as hooks, lines, rods, reels, floats, lures, baits, nets and whatever else as needed by its current holder. It can generate enough gear for up to six creatures to perform a day's work fishing and/or trawling, and grants anyone utilizing its tools a +5 profane bonus to Profession (Fisherman) checks (or similar), as well as to Survival checks made to gather food from bodies of water and areas nearby them. Anything generated by the Tomb dissolves into nothingness 7 days later.

In addition to the above functions, the Tomb of Karaphas is magically capacious, acting as a Bag of Holding (Type IV). What is contained within is largely at the DMs discretion, but it normally contains the Rotten Cricks four enchanted fillet knives crafted from whale bones (two +1 Keen Animal-Bane Daggers, two +1 Keen Aquatic-Bane Daggers), a Net of Snaring woven from merfolk hair, tools for preparing sea life for consumption, tools for whittling and scrimshaw, whittled and scrimshawed trinkets worth at least 4,000gp in total, no fewer than twenty bottled beverages of varying quality and alcohol content, and a corkscrew carved from a sea serpent's tooth.

Destruction: The Tomb of Karaphas and all its contents are destroyed utterly if gnashed between the teeth of Ragadahn while the Rotten Crick is dead.

-----

The Tidepool Reaper

Minor Artifact

Aura: Moderate Conjuration and Transmutation

CL: 18th

Weight: 4lbs

Slot: ---

This powerful, magical fishing rod is much more than its mundane appearance suggests. It's capable of fishing in any waters, magically adjusting the length of its line, the strength of the floats and the weight of the sinkers, and the size and design of the hook itself as needed, all such adjustments done on the fly by the malign intelligence within the tool with no action needed from the wielder. It's still up to the wielder to supply bait, but the Reaper can fetch bait on its own if a supply is left anywhere within 5ft of it. With a simple command, the Reaper will conjure a stand for itself and fish entirely on its own using either a Profession (Fishing) check or a Survival check (+10 to either), depositing its catches into whatever container is provided, throwing catches onto the shore beside it if no container is available.

In the hands of another creature, it grants that creature a +5 profane bonus to Profession (Fisherman) checks (or similar), as well as Survival checks made to gather food from bodies of water. Once per day, the Tidepool Reaper may be used to dredge up items of varying worth; this is identical to a 18th level Cleric with the Flotsam Subdomain using Sift.

Destruction: The Tidepool Reaper can only be destroyed if it is sealed inside of the Tomb of Karaphas when the tacklebox is destroyed.

------

That Old and Rotten Crick CR 15

Neutral Evil Medium Fey Init: +7; Senses: Darkvision 60ft, low-light vision, mistsight; Perception +25

------ Defense ------

AC 31, touch 17, flat-footed 24 (+7 Dex, +7 armor, +7 natural armor) HP 130 (18d6+54), Regeneration 5 (Electricity) Fort +8 Ref +16 Will +13 (see Shield of Hatred) Defensive abilities Evasion, Shield of Hatred, Uncanny Dodge; DR 10/Cold iron and Piercing; Immune Cold, poison, sleep; Resist Acid 20, Fire 20; SR 22

------ Offense ------

Speed 30ft, swim 60ft Melee Tidepool Reaper (rapier) +17/+12 (1d6+4/16-20/x2) OR Tidepool Reaper (whip) +19/+14 (1d4+5 plus pull or trip) Ranged +1 Net +17 (Special) Space 5ft; Reach 5ft (30ft with Tidepool Reaper (whip)) Special Attacks Fishmonger, pull 5ft, Supreme Angler Spell-like Abilities (CL 18th; Concentration +26)

Constant--Speak With Animals, Water Walking At-will--Fog Cloud, Hydraulic Push (CMB 26), Bestow Curse (DC 22), Water Breathing 3/day--Charm Monster (DC 22), Dispel Magic, Freedom of Movement, Hold Monster (DC 22), Quickened Spiked Pit (DC 21) 1/day--Air Walk, Control Weather (as Druid), Horrid Wilting (DC 26), Summon Ship, Walk the Plank (DC 23) 1/month--Salvage

------ Statistics ------

Str 16 Dex 25 Con 17 Int 24 Wis 18 Cha 26 Base Atk: +9; CMB +12 (see Supreme Angler); CMD 29

Feats Combat Reflexes, Craft Magic Arms and Armor (B), Craft Wondrous Item(B), Greater Serpent Lash, Greater Whip Mastery, Harvest Parts (B), Improved Whip Mastery, Quicken Spell-like Ability (Spiked Pit), Serpent Lash, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (Whip), Whip Mastery

Skills Bluff +16, Craft (Scrimshaw) +28, Craft (Whittling) +26, Diplomacy +21, Escape Artist +26, Heal +19, Knowledge (Geography) 28, Knowledge (Local) +27, Knowledge (Nature) +28, Perception +25, Profession (Fisherman) +35, Sense Motive +12, Sleight of Hand +20, Spellcraft +25, Stealth +15, Swim +24, Use Magic Device +29

Languages Aklo, Aquan, Common, Elven, Dwarven, Goblin, Halfling, Orc, Sylvan, Undercommon; Speak With Animals

SQ Fearsome Fishing, Item Crafting, water breathing

------ Ecology ------

Environment Any water Organization Solitary Treasure Triple standard (Tomb of Karaphas, Tidepool Reaper, Old and Rotten Coat (+3 mithral shirt with no maximum Dex bonus), scrimshaw collection, etc)

------

Combat: The Old Crick generally only fights against creatures he has an enormous advantage against; that is, creatures his Fishmonger ability triggers against while his target is in the water, allowing him to utilize his Supreme Angler ability to attack with unavoidable strikes. Against surface-bound foes, he will use the Combat Maneuvers his whips afford him alongside Quickened Spiked Pit to dispose of most enemies, or Walk the Plank to drag enemies into spontaneously manifested bodies of water to take advantage of Supreme Angler. His Fog Clouds do not impede him due to his mist sight, and he will use them to confound enemies relying on sight and keep his distance to utilize his whip's power to their full potential. Other favored tactics include utilizing the disarming ability of whips he wields to relieve enemies of their equipment before throwing the items into his conjured pits, or overboard any ship he's on. If he can throw his enemies into bodies of water with any ability, he generally will.

Morale: Old Crick is maniacal in combat against sea life, and bravely fights to the death against such creatures for the chance to end them. Against surface life, he fights only until the other party is unconscious or retreats, and rarely coup de graces fallen foes unless they are aligned with the sea in some fashion; he will likely steal what he desires from them and leave them tied up for another creature to find. When reduced to 30 HP or below, he will surrender and attempt to parlay and/or bargain. If his surrender is rejected, he will fight to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Fearsome Fishing (Ex): Old Crick wields the tools of his trade with such expert experience that he may use even common fishing rods or lengths of rope as if they were whips, applying his whip-relevant feats and special abilities (including Supreme Angler, below) to any such tools he wields. Magic fishing rods or ropes are treated as +1 weapons in his hands. His signature rod, the Tidepool Reaper, is even more dangerous when used in this way, responding to his will as easily as a limb; he may freely use it as either an +2 Aquatic-Bane Whip with a reach of 30ft instead of 15, or a +1 Aquatic-Bane Keen Rapier, both of which he is proficient with.

Fishmonger (Ex): Old Crick has the Favored Enemy ability of a 15th level Ranger (+6 to Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks, as well as to attack and damage rolls), except it works universally against creatures with the Water or Aquatic subtypes. His hatred of sea life is so great that this ability also extends to Animals, Fey, Magical Beasts, and Vermin which live in the water, even if they do not have the Water or Aquatic subtypes. However, this ability never applies to creatures who do not live in water, even if they resemble sea creatures, as he commends such creatures for shedding their "horrid lifestyle" and choosing to "live properly."

Item Crafting (Ex): Old Crick gains Harvest Parts, Craft Wondrous Item, and Craft Magical Arms and Armor as bonus feats. He crafts Wondrous Items with incredible swiftness; any item that costs less than 1,000gp to create is crafted in 4 hours instead of 8.

Shield of Hatred (Su): The waves of hate flowing off Old Crick prevents sea life from easily touching him. He adds half the bonuses gained from Fishmonger (+3) as a profane bonus to his AC, to his CMD, and his saving throws against the attacks, abilities, maneuvers, and spells of any creature with the Aquatic or Water subtypes. He never counts as a willing target for the abilities of such creatures, even if he is magically compelled to do so.

Supreme Angler (Ex): Over the years, Old Crick has fished in the strangest waters one can imagine, and it's given him an insurmountable advantage when attacking the beasts of the sea. He ignores cover and concealment when attacking creatures that are partially or fully underwater while he himself is on the surface (whether on a shoreline, on a boat, or standing on the water). Each round, he gains a +20 profane bonus to the first attack roll or CMB check he makes with a whip against partially or fully submerged targets.

[verbenaa]

venus in furs

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+ only

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Ascended Astarion, dom Astarion, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, slight degradation, guided masturbation, vaginal sex

𝑎/𝑛: back with another one, friends. I didn't ever think I would really write ascended Astarion, but what can I say?? I hope you all like this one, I definitely enjoyed writing it and getting out of my comfort zone a little bit! Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The air of the palace is cold against your exposed skin as you walk through the halls you now own, wearing nothing but an ermine cloak and glittering jewels, your stride confident amidst the darkened hallways.

These halls were once filled with the smell of decay and the leftover dust of ages past, a distasteful reminder of the horrors that had occurred here over centuries. You had made sure upon Astarion’s ascension to rip out as much of the place as you could, making decisions with that of an aesthete’s touch, ideals of what a grand palace should look like for your lover.

Dull red carpets were hastily replaced with elegant emerald green, every oppressive drapery torn away from their rods and transformed instead into flowing brocaded silks, old and rotted furniture sent to be thrown into the river or to burn, it mattered not which end it met. Such matters of what happened to the furniture were beneath you. 

You had much loftier concerns to deal with, now.

After all, what use was being His Dark Consort, if not to wile away your now infinite hours doing whatever you so wished, consequences be damned?

You stride towards the ballroom where two thrones of gleaming gold sit side by side on a newly raised dais, not caring whether the servants you passed noticed your state of dishabille. You knew they would turn their eyes from you, they would never dare to look upon you in such a way without his express permission.

At last, you make your way to your destination; chandeliers dimly lit with tapers of dripping wax hang from the ceiling, illuminating the richly woven tapestries decorating the walls. It was a shame you still couldn’t manage to get all of the blood stains out of the floorboards from the battle with those dreadful wolves, but you supposed there were worse trophies than those of your victories. You were content to let them serve as a reminder to all those who entered this place of who it was that had eventually won the battle.

A quick step up onto the dais has you exactly where you want to be, your eyes flitting between the twin thrones, resplendent with whorls of gold crafted into scenes of animals at hunt, the seats plush with dark velvet. With naught but a minute glance towards your own throne, you instead bring your gaze upon that of Astarion’s. 

You settle into your lover’s throne and arrange your cloak around you, the blood red of the velvet sliding against your curves as you move to recline, the contrast stark against the milky fur of the oversized collar, dark dots smattered across the expanse of alabaster like drops of ink against a page. 

The jewels around your neck and in your ears shift with every movement of your body, the pear-shaped ruby of your necklace—practically the size of your palm—encrusted with crystal clear diamonds heavy as it rests upon your collarbone. 

You wait for Astarion to find you, just like this, your body on display for him in the way you know he so likes. Soft curls of anticipation settle deep within your stomach, embers of pleasure eager to transform into a wildfire. 

Astarion, thankfully, does not keep you waiting long, his muted footfalls upon the covered floors catch upon your ears soon after taking your desired place. The knowledge he is finally here and so close has you sitting up slightly straighter. 

You know he will be able smell the scent of you, the heady aroma of your slow growing excitement will lead him right to where you lay in wait for him. You arrange yourself for one moment more on the throne, a siren’s smile on your face as you await the presence of your lover.

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The last thing Astarion expects to see when he walks into the ballroom is you, lounging indolently on his throne of all places, wearing nothing but the dark red of an ermine cloak and dripping in jewels.

He has to give you credit, he supposes; when he walked in from the city after a series of decidedly droll meetings with decidedly useless patriars, finding you waiting for him like a little treat dying to be tasted did not make his list. 

How very lucky you are, it seems, that when he scented your arousal on the stairs he decided instead to investigate rather than moving on to whatever work awaits him in his office.

You had always liked playing these kinds of games, your subtle machinations something he was always happy to bear witness to with a smile on his face.

His perfect, pretty Dark Consort and her quaint little schemes. 

“And what do we have here?” Astarion arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you. 

His eyes trace your frame, from the white and black of the fur trim that rests against your naked flesh, hiding your peaked nipples from sight as your crossed legs obscure the telltale wetness he knows is forming between your thighs.

You flutter your lashes prettily at his perusal of your body, a coquettish tilt of your head at his interest.

With predatory intent, Astarion makes a slow circle around his throne with inhuman grace, his eyes never leaving you. You feel the intensity of his gaze against your skin, your hair, your lips—every part of you on display for him and him only. 

He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

He completes his circle and his eyes meet your own, his glowing claret gaze darkening and you know with certainty that he is pleased at your offering for him.

“Won’t you bend the knee for me, my Lord?” You feign innocence in your question, eyes roving greedily over his clothed body, taking in the fine tailoring of his intricately embroidered velvet doublet, the skin-tight fit of the finest leather pants highlighting the beginnings of his erection.

“Is that what you would like, dearest?” His eyes bore into your own, a mocking smile alighting his plush lips at such a request. 

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think? To be greeted with such a gift like myself?” Your thighs open for him as you recline further into the velvet, your wetness glistening in the dim candlelight.

“How presumptuous of you, my sweet Consort.” despite his words, a spike of heat works its way through your body at the sight of his knees moving smoothly to the floor in front of the throne you have now made your own. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips absentmindedly as he comes to settle his chest between your open thighs, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

Astarion doesn’t miss the sight of your tongue brushing against your lips, and he can’t help but think of other things that your mouth is capable of. He runs his hands up and down the outside of your thighs with surprising delicacy as his eyes move to your dewy center, now exposed to him. 

“I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, pet.” His hands make their way to your waist, thumbs brushing teasing patterns against your skin as he leans in to press a kiss to the softness of your lower belly, breath catching in your throat at the closeness of his lips.

You have but a moment to relish the feeling, the hands at your waist moving to yank you out of the throne upon which you sit. You quickly find yourself chest to chest with your lover, your exposed center pressing against the growing hardness still hidden behind tied leather for mere seconds before your world is turned once more; Astarion moving you onto your knees as you now face the seat of the throne you had just occupied, a spot of your own wetness darkening the velvet cushion as your ribcage presses hard against the golden frame of the throne.

A hand makes its way from your waist to clasp against your throat, the feeling of his fingers pressing in on your windpipe exquisite. 

“Because you’ll have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.” His words fall hot against your ear as he speaks, lips brushing against the tender skin as your face falls at the thought of being denied what you had been so sure he would give you, a small noise of discontent falling from your rouged lips.

You feel the hand still resting on your waist move up to unclasp the fur cloak from your throat, the heavy fabric falling to the floor behind you with a muted thud before Astarion moves to grab and throw it aside. He quickly presses close, eager to replace the lost warmth as his hand makes it way back south, the embroidery of his doublet pressing against your exposed back, every caress of the threads like fire against your skin. 

The hand around you neck tightens infinitesimally, the additional pressure drawing a gasp from your lips as his other hand continues making it way lower, sweeping through the curls at the apex of your thighs before coming to cup at your dripping wetness. 

“I don’t take orders from you, lover, and it would do for you to remember that.” His fingers slide through your folds, drawing a noise from both of your lips at the feeling. 

“Gods, look at you. So desperate already, and I’ve barely touched you.” His words are a whisper against your neck, reverent despite his prior condemnation. Fingers trace at your entrance, their touch light and teasing as he continues his scolding. 

“What a little tyrant you’ve become. Daring to sit in my throne and to make such demands of me.” His tone is mocking now as he presses those two fingers at your entrance, pushing in to the knuckle, leaving you no time to acclimate to the fullness. A whine falls from your lips as his fingers move deep, eyes falling shut and head lolling forwards the hand still squeezing lightly at your throat.

Astarion allows the gesture, his hand softening its hold to instead stroke at the graceful column of you neck as your head falls back to rest upon his velvet draped shoulder. 

The fingers inside you find that spot deep inside, curling to press into it with relentless intent. Moans fall from your lips as his fingers fuck into your pussy, your wetness aiding their slide in and out of your wanting body. 

“Look at how easily you cry for me, my sweet.” His words spur you on, your hips riding his hand as his fingers find their rhythm deep inside you for but a moment before he mercilessly pulls them from of your body.

Astarion’s fingers leave you empty, a whimper filling the air as he drags the hand that had been pleasuring you up your body, leaving a trail of slick across the heated skin of your stomach to the place in between your breasts. 

His wet fingers leave your body to hover in front of you, your head coming up off his shoulder. 

Astarion’s pulls his fingers apart, shining strings of your arousal clinging between the digits. The sight of it has the both of you entranced as Astarion slowly brings those fingers together again and presses them against your lips.

“Open.” The command is clear in his voice, and you open your mouth without a second thought.

He settles the fingers on your tongue and you obediently close your mouth around them and suck at your own wetness coating the digits. 

“Such a good girl, barely having to be told what to do,” His praise is like velvet running across your skin as you hollow your cheeks around the digits in your mouth, your essence heavy on your tongue. 

“You taste divine, don’t you think?” You are powerless but to nod in agreement, empty core clenching at the honey dripping from his words.

The taste of yourself in your own mouth like this is downright lewd and you know without a doubt that if the heart that sits in your chest could beat once more that your face would be flushed as red as the roses you now choose to decorate with.

You can feel Astarion’s hardness through his pants, pressing into you from his place behind you, cock twitching with every movement of your tongue. His fingers make their way out of your mouth before reaching down to tweak at a hardened nipple, your saliva coating his digits as they rub circles around the nub. 

“Do me a favor, darling, and stay on those knees of yours.” Astarion’s lips brush against the delicate skin of your ear once more, his words a seductive whisper as he rises behind you. 

You look over your shoulder as he stands at his full height, your face at eye level with the hard bulge still hidden behind leather. A corner of your mouth tilts upwards as you turn on your knees to face him fully, hands coming up to rest on his upper thighs as you look up into his eyes.

Your fingers rub the leather covering his strong legs, head moving forward to rest lightly against his covered erection.

The sight of you down on your knees is that of sin incarnate, Astarion’s breath hitching slightly before that same wicked smile creeps back onto his features.

“May I, my Lord?” Your fingertips inch upwards with your words, playing with the waistband of his pants.

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think?” He uses your earlier words against you tauntingly, his haughty smirk deepening at the devilish raise of your brows.

You see fit not to answer him with words, instead letting your hands do the talking as they make their way to the laces covering his erection. With several quick motions of your fingers the laces fall open and you free his aching length, placing a kiss to the tip.

Astarion groans at that first brush of your lips against him, hips jumping at the touch as his cock bobs in response.

You mouth at the crown, reverent brushes of your tongue moving on the soft skin of his shaft have his head falling back with a sigh. Astarion brings his eyes back to your form on the floor beneath him, knees resting on the ground as your nipples pebble in the chilled air, lips and tongue working him with the motions you know he loves. 

You lick a stripe up a vein on his cock before taking his heat inside your mouth, cheeks hollowing against him as you suck. The action has him moaning, your lips and tongue moving to work him as you slowly begin to bob your head.

You continue your ministrations, sucking him into your mouth as your hand comes to help you touch what you can’t easily reach with your mouth, pumping him at the base as your tongue caresses the crown of his cock. 

The noises Astarion makes is like music to your ears, the sound of his carnal moans only serving to drive you to move your mouth faster and deeper.

“You can take me harder, can’t you?” His words are uncharacteristically breathless as his fingers card through your hair, gathering strands into a makeshift ponytail in his fist as his other hand brushes against the high point of your cheek.

You nod your head as much as you can with your lips wrapped around his cock, humming in confirmation as your eyes look up to meet his own gaze, glassy with lust. 

Astarion pumps his hips at your blessing, moving his cock in and out of your mouth with slow motions as your tongue brushes against him. Your lips open wider to accommodate him, hand on his thigh squeezing in encouragement.

Pleasure rushes to your core as Astarion’s hand fists harder in your hair, his hips moving faster now as he sets his pace, your moans around his cock spurring him on as he moves closer to your throat, eyes watering involuntarily with each thrust as he nears the back of your mouth. 

He hisses at the pleasure, at the sight of you letting him fuck your mouth however he pleases as your eyes flash upwards to meet his own, the beginnings of tears dusting your lashes as he pushes deeper into your warm mouth. 

Few things compare to the knowledge that Astarion is under your control like this, and you know he won’t last long as you breathe in through your nose, relaxing your throat for him to press as deep as he wants with a flutter of your lashes, stray teardrops falling onto your cheeks as you can only imagine the thoughts floating through his pleasure-addled mind. 

As Astarion looks down upon your form below him, taking him so very well, he can’t help but think that the deepest and darkest parts of him covet you like this always. Lips wrapped tight around his cock, unable to think of nothing but him as he fucks your mouth, your lips sealed around his cock. 

The beautiful blush of your lips, the crystal of your tears, the claret of your blood. 

All for him and him only.

He comes on your tongue with the thought, his spend going down your throat in hot, salty spurts. You swallow him greedily, intent on not wasting a drop as the hands in your hair tighten as Astarion’s hips buck into your mouth with abandon as you drink down his seed.

With a sigh the hand in your hair loosens as Astarion comes down from his high, your mouth still moving over his softening cock. You slowly pull off him, tongue licking at him as you go, collecting the remnants of his come off him before you let his length fall from your lips.

With one last swallow, you look up at him from your place on your knees, licking at a stray drop of his come that escapes your mouth. Astarion brushes his thumb against your closed lips, his eyes still hot with lust as your tongue darts out to lick at the fingertip.

With a nod of his head, Astarion gestures to your cloak where it lays long forgotten against the cold floors. With a coy smirk up at him, you bring your hands to the floor and crawl over towards the soft velvet. 

Astarion follows your every sway of your body as you move, and when you finally lay yourself down onto the cloak, back resting against the lush material, he follows. He wastes no time to lower himself above you, hovering, as he takes in the vision of you resting beneath him.

His Dark Consort. His blasphemous Queen.

He would do anything for you.

His eyes rove your naked form, burning the memory of the way the deep crimson of the cape highlights the color of your skin, the open yearning in your expression and complete submission to him into his mind to last the entirety of his eternal life.

Astarion finally touches your body, no longer satisfied with a simple gaze, a hand brushing back your hair from your face before making its way down your body. You let your legs fall open for him to continue his exploration, eagerly exposing your wanting center to him as he bends his head down, giving an experimental lick up your slit, collecting your wetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to come, my love?” You nod your head, a whine escaping at the promise in his voice. 

“Then I want you to make yourself come while I watch.” He releases your legs, moving to stand before making his way to his throne.

He sits down with the grace of a king, his gaze expectant on your naked body as you part your legs for him once more.

His words are unexpected but you waste no time, not willing to wait lest he decide to abandon your pleasure all together. A hand skates its way down your body, bypassing your aching breasts to go straight to your clit. You rub at your pearl with delicate fingers, your motions second nature as you let yourself fall headfirst into the feeling of pleasure as Astarion watches you from his place on his throne, his cock already hard again.

Your eyes fall shut as you continue your ministrations, head falling to the side as your pleasure drives higher and higher with every motion of your fingers. 

“Eyes on me, darling.” His words are hard, the command clear in his voice has your eyes opening fast and landing back on his form.

You watch Astarion where he sits, taking in the sight of him as your fingers continue drawing circles around your clit. He reclines back in his throne, a hand drawing lazy touches up and down his cock as his own eyes are fixated on your fingers at your most intimate area. 

With a breath your hand leaves your clit, moving further down to touch at your weeping entrance. 

If he wants a show, you will gladly give him one.

Without waiting, you plunge your fingers into yourself, pushing them as deep as you can. Your own are nothing compared to the length and elegance of his own, but they will have to do for now. You fuck yourself on your fingers, quickly adding a third in an attempt to recreate the feeling of Astarion’s own. 

Your fingers shine with your wetness, Astarion groaning at the sight of you fucking yourself like this, knowing you won’t last much longer at the rate you are going.

“Slow down, darling,” A smirk plays at his lips as he notes the shaking of your thighs. 

“You can’t come until I say so, and I’m not ready for this little performance to be over quite yet.” You whine at his command, but slow your fingers obediently, moving them inside you at a slower pace now.

Your fingers work diligently as your eyes don’t leave Astarion’s from where he sits some feet away. His attention on you only serve to drive you higher, those crimson eyes never leaving you.

Your legs widen so Astarion can better see your motions as your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, fingers still moving in an easy rhythm that drives your higher and higher with every pass.

You know that he loves to see and watch you like this, and there is nothing you love more than leaning into that yearning, eager to let his dominance wash over you.

“A-Astarion, I can’t hold off much longer.” It takes effort to keep your eyes on him, trying to push off your orgasm as long as possible, thighs shaking once more with impending release.

“Let go, my love.” His permission feels like a balm, hand at your chest coming down to rub at your clit as the fingers inside you speed up their thrusts, intent to bring yourself to orgasm as fast as you can get there.

You had waited so long to finally be allowed to come, to get the pleasure you desired and deserved, and while you wish that it was Astarion’s hands instead of your own, you supposed beggars could not be choosers.

Your orgasm hits, limbs seizing and hips bucking against your fingers, head thrown back as a moan leaves your painted lips, back bowing with pleasure.

“Beautiful.” Astarion murmurs the words low, barely audible over your own moans as you come on your fingers, orgasm washing over you as you writhe on the floor in front of him.

Your body relaxes in the wake of your release, limbs loose against the cloak on the floor. You ease your fingers out of yourself with a slight wince, the digits soaked with your own come. You lay there for a moment, your senses coming back to you as your eyes finally open and glance back at your lover. 

“Come to me.” His words are expectant, and you force yourself to rise despite the pleasant exhaustion weighing down your limbs, walking to the throne and standing in between his knees as he spreads them to make room for you.

Astarion’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing the fingers that had filled your core to his own mouth before he wraps his mouth around them.

He licks at your come, tongue sliding against your fingers in a bid to collect all of your spend, intent on letting none go to waste. The feeling of his tongue on your fingers drives a wedge of heat right back to the spot between your legs, Astarion’s eyes never leaving your face as his tongue glides up and down your fingertips.

With one last motion, he sucks hard on your fingers before pulling his mouth away from your hand.

“Sit.” The command is simple as his hands grab at your waist, pulling you to him. 

Your knees land on either side of his hips, his cock brushing up against your empty core as Astarion’s lips finds your own.

His kiss is demanding, passion and control combined into a fiery thing that you answer with the same emotion, mouth opening to his tongue as it sweeps inside to taste.

You’re breathless when Astarion breaks this kiss, his lips moving to press kisses against your jaw.

“Turn around and face the doors, darling.” His smile is absolutely deviant as you obey his words without a second thought, excitement building at whatever he has in store for you.

Your body twists over his own, settling onto his lap as your bare back rests against his velvet doublet. His length presses against your slit like this, your come slicking the shaft. Astarion’s hands caress the curve of your waist as you lean back into him, your head turning to brush your lips over the skin of his neck in a light kiss.

The hands on your waist move further down your sides and over your legs, stopping at your knees to grip underneath each, lifting them up and over the armrests of the throne. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight burn in your thighs as your legs stretch open, every inch of your aching cunt on full display.

He bares you entirely like this, anyone who dares to walk by the open doors and look inside would see every bit of you. It’s a small blessing, you think, that any servants have long made themselves scarce once they realized the debauchery taking place.

“Such a good girl you are, darling, keeping yourself open for me like this.” The hands holding your legs move up to stroke at your thighs, before one wanders higher towards your center. Astarion drags his fingers through your wetness, fingers spreading your folds and collecting the wetness on his fingertips as he circles your clit.

His lips find the tender skin behind your ear at the moment two fingers push inside you, sliding in knuckle deep before pulling back out again.

“You put on such a good show for me, darling. I think you deserve a reward.” He kisses your neck, those fingers pushing in once more to massage at your inner walls.

Astarion is intent on building you back up to a frenzy, his years of knowledge of your body to press and rub against everywhere he knows will only bring you higher. 

He will always worship you, you who helped him rise to this new height, assisting so selflessly in handing him such power. It was the least he could do, to keep and covet you so tightly you could never want or dream of anything less than an eternity by his side.

The old Astarion could never care for you the way he does now, could never gift you such unimaginable riches—gowns of the finest silks and tulles, an endless supply of silvers and golds, jewels of unbelievable value. 

No, he couldn’t offer you even a fraction of what he can now. His poor excuse for companionship was all that he had to offer you back then.

You deserved better, and better was what he would give you.

“You’re a vision like this, darling, held open for me while I make you come.” He mouths at the skin of your neck, never slowing in his movements.

His fingers hook inside of you, pressing against your g-spot with relentless efficiency, your cries spurring on his motions. You can hear the sounds of your wetness with his every motion, can feel yourself dripping onto the soft leather of his covered thighs beneath you.

Your orgasm hits you without warning, that familiar warmth coursing through your veins Astarion’s fingers still press on the softness of your walls as your cunt constricts around them. You writhe in his lap, hips riding his hand as he presses kisses to your neck as his fingers continue their work. You whine at the sensations, body moving closer towards overstimulation after reaching your peak twice in such a short time.

Astarion grants you a moment to recover as his fingers slide out of you, hands instead moving to bring your legs down from their place over the chair as you pant listlessly against his chest, body still shaking from the pleasure he had given you.

“Please, fuck me.” Your words carry a certain softness in their desperation that has Astarion’s cock bobbing against your entrance once more as you move onto your knees above him, looking back over your shoulder to see him grabbing his cock as he positions it at your entrance.

You lower down eagerly to take him inside you in a smooth glide, ignoring the slight twinge of overstimulation as you press all the way down until your hips meet, a hiss leaving his mouth at the feeling of your warmth finally wrapped around him.

You moans fill the air together, Astarion’s hands finding your waist as you glide yourself up and down his cock, taking him deep with every motion downwards, hips grinding into his own when he bottoms out. His lips caress the skin of your spine and neck, one hand on your hip helping you move up and down him, the other buried in your hair, keeping it out of the way of his roaming lips. 

Astarion lets you move above him at your own pace, moaning into your skin as you work yourself on him, your hips undulating above him in a seductive dance as you take him deep on every slide down before gliding back up, barely keeping the head of him inside before you begin again.

Astarion’s grip on your hip tightens as he begins to guide you in harder motions that have you picking up speed, his fingers digging into your skin as the lips on your neck switch from kisses to light nips of his fangs. 

“Harder, Astarion.” Your words come out on uneven breaths as he thrusts deep, cries of pleasure falling from you open lips as he takes control. 

“Off, darling.” He pants, other hand moving to join the one at your hip as he moves you off his cock, your wetness coating it. 

On unsteady legs you move to stand by the throne as Astarion gets up behind you, his hands never leaving your body as he quickly directs you back. Your knees touch soft velvet as you move to kneel on the seat, hands grasping for purchase on the golden whorls as Astarion sheathes himself back inside you, hips sliding home on the first thrust. 

The carved gold bites into your palms as you hold on, legs widening for him to fuck you harder as his hands find their way to hold onto your hips, pulling your body back against his own as he fucks you with little delicacy.

Gone is the easy, sensuous pace of earlier, replaced by your mutual desperation for something harder. His cock is impossibly deep like this, hitting what feels like every nerve ending inside you with the pump of his hips.

A hand grips your hair and pulls your head back roughly as his teeth nip at your earlobe. 

“Is this what you wished for, my dear?” He whispers the words, hips snapping into yours. “To be fucked like a whore? On my throne, like this?”

You moan at his words, pussy clenching hard on his cock as his skin slaps into your own, the sound echoing against the elegantly carved wood ceiling.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He chuckles into your ear as you gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, his mouth licking a stripe up your neck.

You deign not to answer him, knowing your body tells him everything he needs to know about that particular line of questioning.

His cock hits a particularly deep spot inside you, and you cry out at the sensation, pain and pleasure mixing headily in your veins. Your hands clutch harder onto the throne under you in an attempt to center yourself, efforts in vain as Astarion continues to fuck into that same spot near your cervix.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of him so deep, wanton moans falling from your lips with abandon as pleasure streaks through body, burning brighter than the sun. 

“Will you bleed for me, sweet thing?” The words aren’t quite a question, more hypothetical in nature. You know he will take, and you are always willing to give to him, even after all these years. You nod your head regardless, as best you can with Astarion’s fingers still gripping in your hair, never mind his hard thrusts in and out of your body.

His lips fall against your neck, nose nudging against the skin there as his breath is hot where his lips caress the skin behind your ear. The hand in your hair loosens, allowing you to move your head further to side, baring more skin to his searching mouth in invitation.

He bites down, the fragile skin of your neck breaking like it has a thousand times over, your blood dripping down in rivulets as Astarion drinks you in. Your blood stains the diamonds and rubies around your neck, facets dancing with every push of Astarion’s hips against your own in the dim light.

Every suck of Astarion’s mouth against your neck brings you closer, cries falling as you both soar higher and higher towards your peak. His hips continue to move, never slowing in their rhythm as he drinks, blood continuing to drip down over the peak of your breasts before falling onto the gilded throne beneath you.

All it takes is a few more thrusts from Astarion before you come apart, body bucking against his own as he continues to suck at the flesh of your neck, every pull from his mouth bringing the pleasure higher as you crest wave after wave of our climax, white hot heat rushing over your senses. He works you through your orgasm, never slowing his pace as he fucks you through the height of it, allowing you to luxuriate in the euphoria.

Astarion follows shortly after you, the feeling of your cunt clenching hard against his own heat divine as he loses the final threads of his control. His hips press tight against your own as he empties himself inside of you with unrestrained moans as he extricates his fangs from your neck to press his brow against your shoulder, tongue licking at the spilled blood that runs down your body.

Astarion stays inside you, his cock softening as his come leaks from your joined bodies down onto the skin of your thighs, pressing kisses to your shoulder as your breathing slowly evens out. 

Finally he pulls himself from your center, helping you off the throne as he bends down to grab your discarded cape from the floor nearby. He settles it back around your shoulders as you lean against him, looking up into his eyes.

“What ever are we to do with you, darling?” He sighs the words in mock distress, a finger coming to lift your chin up towards him as he smirks.

“I suppose maybe I need to be better disciplined?” Your smile answers his own, voice coy as you toy with a button on his doublet.

“Then lead the way, pet, there’s still much I can teach you.” Your answering smirk is all the permission required as Astarion leads you to the bedroom, intent to make good on his promise before the night is done.

[beansidhebumbling]

The End of the World is a Love Story

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Part 1: A Most Familiar Stranger

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The end of the world started with Feyre Archeron.

And maybe in another life the stars foretold a different story, one where she was the hero. The chosen. The change.

In this world, there was only one truth.

The end of the world started with Feyre Archeron.

And she was no Saviour.

-

Her birth was unremarkable. She arrived silently amidst too much blood into a village that dealt in death, misery, and little else. A grey place, named on few maps and known to fewer people. It lay on the edge of the boglands and bred a hardy sort, who knew the pang of hunger and the taste of iron between teeth.

With a father who shucked the title and a mother who left the plane as Feyre entered it, she became a daughter of the fen.

She learned to tread softly so as not to mark the wet peat and to swim in the black sludge of bog holes where so many grown men perished. This land was her birth right and it spoke to her in kind, so that she sung the sibilance of the marsh snake before the clunky tongue of Man. The frogs she often caught, raw and wriggling, eyes crunching between her first molars, provided the lullabies of her youth.

The trees, that carried word across space and time, told of what the Village called her.

Animal.

Monster.

An Chríoch.

As was written in the Book of Man, each is born in place and station to suit their disposition and destiny.

And so was the case for Feyre Archeron.

-

All she treasured held some part of herself.

Her bow made of ash and stained with blood.

Her bracelet of baby teeth.

And Nesta, the extension of her soul.

-

Although speckles of Feyre floated in the sharp twist of her sister's smile and in the bronze braids that circled her head like a crown, Nesta was decidedly singular.

Her presence seemed too big for her slight frame, like the air around her carried the excess crackling sparks of her essence.

If the villagefolk were perturbed by Feyre's silent watchful eyes, they were downright fearful of Nesta.

She asked about it, once, while they weaved baskets at the banks of the hidden river, a common wage maker of their youth. They were sat, buried in the high grass side by side, with the fieldmice making conversation nearby, when she mumbled almost incoherently,

'Druid Osheen is scared of you. He can't look at you straight.'

'Is there a question hidden in that mess, Feyrín?'

Nestsa countered, nimble hands deftly weaving rods as a gentle breeze danced with a stray curl at her nape. She was careful with words, like they were intricate as braids or sharp as knives, wielding them expertly and with precision. Feyre treated them like poison, to be used rarely and held in one’s mouth only briefly.

She whined, shouldering her sister lightly,

'Why do you scare him?'

Nesta grinned, eyes creasing and laughed, a silvery breathy thing that dissolved almost as soon as it left her mouth.

'He thinks I'm dangerous. He's right of course,'

She said flippantly, glancing at her sister from the corner of her eye.

'I am marked by Death. He professes that those around me will surely die. But the Book of Man says that killing the Marked is insult to Death himself, so I cannot be burned on any pyre. Instead, they let us roam like wild things here and pray we don’t come close.'

In her tenth year, on the eve of Alban Arthan, young Jimmy Deenihan called her the nightwhore’s shadow. He muttered it as she passed, lacing the word with spittle and spite so it landed like a punch. Feyre’s teeth proved much more cutting than any verbal insult however. She had not heard the term since, but the memory still sat heavy around her neck, intertwined with the bones of Jimmy’s index finger.

There were no friends to be found in the Village.

Nesta dropped her half-woven basket so it sat in the dipped linen of her patched apron, and turned to Feyre. Her eyes, blown black from pupil to sclera, held the dark within them.

She was resplendent and horrifying and greater than all that had come before.

Grabbing Feyre’s hands, she squeezed them within her own and vowed, voice dropping and gaining weight from the earth and heavy air that had settled around them,

'I promise you. I swear that you are safe with me. I don't care if he gorges fat on all of them. Let him burn the world to cinders. I won't let Death take me from you.'

And Nesta who never wasted a thing looked ready to spend water on tears.

She rarely named her love for her sister, for why comment on something as natural as breathing, as vital as a heartbeat. But in that moment, she felt the need to, like a compulsion.

'I love you, Nesta.'

She whispered.

And more hid inside that undressed fact. The seeds of other words like sacrifice and revenge and desperation. Words too precious to be exposed to air.

She felt the ground swallow her prayer and all the secret prayers within.

The bog would hold them. For safe keeping.

-

Death haunted the periphery of their lives for years but left them to grow freely among the peat like wild roses. She never told Nesta of her Sight, thought it might alarm her to know that the doom she feared most was always so very near.

From time to time she saw him, in the shadows of the damned.

A handsome devil indeed.

With hair the colour of pitch and eyes like the tanzanite a wandering pedlar once sold at the market, he cut a fine figure for a demon. He even bore wings on occasion, large bat-like appendages, that carried him high into the air, to swim between the clouds. They fascinated her and she longed to run her hand along the membranes, motivated by the same desire that urged her to trace the sharp edge of a blade.

Sometimes she dreamt of flying beside him, of his hands around her waist, holding her tight to his frame as the land became a patchwork quilt below. And though the beginning differed from dream to dream, the ending was always the same- her body, cold and lifeless and alone, hurtling towards the earth.

He never seemed to notice her scrutiny though he moved ever closer with each passing season, like water circling the drain.

He became, in the compounding tragedies his presence heralded, a most familiar stranger.

-

It was the Samhain of her 26th year when they met.

She told Nesta she had to hunt for blood owls. A falsehood. She resented him for forcing her to lie but necessity demanded it. He was starting to examine Nesta too closely. She’d caught him distracted from his reaping of souls on more than one occasion since the last harvest moon.

Leaving Nesta in their willow hut to read by candlelight, she made her way towards the village, skulking through the thicket and wading up the stream so as to avoid leaving a trace.

She knew exactly where to find her mark. He always attended the bonfire celebrations in his honour, happy to bask in their pitiful human worship, vain creature that he was. It made him extraordinarily easy to stalk down.

Death lounged at the base of an old oak, drinking fae wine, just on the outskirts of the music and merriment. His silk top was unlaced, exposing rich chestnut skin with whirling black markings. They covered his arms and crawled like creeper ivy up his neck, tickling at the sharp line of his jaw. He did not glance her way as she approached, secure in his guise. He did not even tense as she sat before him.

The arrogance of an apex predator was astounding.

Keeping her hood up and her eyes fixed on the knotted bark above his head, she announced bluntly,

'You cannot take my sister. I've seen you lingering near her shadow. And I know what that means. So I'm here to tell you that you can't…Or else, I'll kill you.'

She'd rehearsed this speech and recited it to him as practiced amidst the great ferns, measured and mannerly, making sure to annunciate the consonants crisply, like the Holy Ones did.

Just in case it mattered.

She reckoned it would not have mattered if she’d spoken gibberish, the fact she addressed him at all was enough to spook the Grim.

It was almost comical, the way his back snapped straight, water becoming ice, finely arched eyebrows climbing beneath his tousled fringe as the full force of those violet eyes rested directly on her for the first time.

When he spoke, his voice, rich like sweet birdsong with a pleasant grit caught amidst its tone, was tinged with surprise.

'Why have I never seen you before?'

A hard glint rose above the retreating tides of shock on his face.

She felt a warmth ripple up from the base of her spine to colour her cheeks. Danger had always held such beauty in its thrill. And there was no doubt, as he exposed his sharp gleaming canines, smirking in response to her flush, that he was dangerous.

'I didn't want to be seen. And you're not very observant.'

The smirk vanished.

And in an instant a silver fire broke out. It scorched first the scant space between them before catching onto their bodies. And though she wanted to scream from the pain, Feyre stayed like a statue. For the hawthorns had warned her of this. As the flames rose higher, his indigo shirt dissolved to smoke and ash, and his skin began to melt like candlewax, dripping down his face to expose the rotted flesh and sinew beneath. Shining hints of bone and cartilage peaked through the red, like bog cotton on the hills.

His was an ancient power that he used for horrible tricks.

He growled, his voice echoing through the silver haze, as the gaping maw of his skull hung loose,

'I am Death, girl. I see all.'

In the hitch of a breath, the world turned on its axis and the fire was gone as quickly as it erupted. He sat before her whole and hale again. The sweet relief of cool air did little to quell the phantom burn that tingled on her skin or the irritation that rumbled just beneath.

'And yet,' Feyre snapped, 'you did not see me.'

He sighed heavily, ruffling his wings behind him in irritation, before admitting,

'Yes. And yet. There is that.'

-

She took the chance to study him. Although she knew each posture of his well enough to draw from memory, she’d never had the chance to be this close to him, to count his sooty eyelashes or the faint freckles that scattered constellations across the bridge of his nose. He was the most handsome creature she'd ever seen. Each feature exactly placed and proportioned for perfect harmony. It raised the hackles on her back.

He was like the Cage Flowers in the Northern Plains, that entranced humans with their syrupy fragrance, only to encase and consume them whole.

Such unnatural beauty could only be suspicious.

He scanned her in turn and found her entirely unintimidating, if the way he stretched lazily and leaned back, once more, was anything to go by.

‘Who are you?’

He drawled, snapping his long ink-tipped fingers so his wine disappeared in the blink of an eye. She wondered if that was how it was to die. Here and then with a single click, gone without a trace, to a place unknown.

‘You should never give your name to the fae.’

She retorted.

‘A good thing that I’m much more than a piddling faerie then, isn’t it?’

He scoffed, indignance etched in the furrow on his brow. As if to be called such was the gravest of insults. He was as mercurial as any fae she’d heard about. As childish too, she mused, watching him sketch a a beheaded pixie in the air with sparks of starlight.

She offered him a name to soothe his wounded ego.

So she wouldn’t feel the searing heat of the fire again.

So she could hear him say it.

‘They call me Críoch.’

Death stiffened at that. Just barely. Just enough to make the slight tremor of his wings, as he affected an air of disinterest, meaningful.

‘Who are they?’

‘The trees.’

She replied quietly, patting a protruding root of the oak, before turning the question back again and asking,

‘Who are you?’

He considered her for a moment, giving a long look to her hand that still lay on the root, before asserting, star-flecked eyes boring into her,

‘I am many things to many creatures. I am older than the stardust that made you. I bring forth the start and the end. But’, he huffed in amusement, ‘the trees call me Rhysand.’

It was no surprise to her that the trees had aptly named him. Rhysand suited him, fit him like his fine leather trousers and slipped from his forked tongue with a well-worn comfort.

‘W-will you let my sister live, Rhysand?’

She ventured, cursing the weakness of her voice at such a crucial moment.

‘That depends, Críoch’, he dared, leaning closer until she could see the whirling emptiness of his pupils, ‘on whether you’ll shake my hand.’

He extended his right hand so it hung limply in the air like a patient noose, wisps of night leaking from his blackened fingertips.

He was lethal.

He was breath-taking.

He was close enough to make her heart race and cause a warm feeling to stir deep within the pits of her stomach. His grin looked more like the bearing of teeth and his eyes, hard as granite, stayed affixed on her, his prey.

And though, being so near a God was intoxicating, she still recognised a trap before her.

For the first time that night, Feyre allowed a small smile to break her blank face.

He was not the only hunter in the clearing.

-

She grabbed his hand.

And the world exploded.

-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging @ae-neon since you've already read a conservative half of this and @middlingsister because i know you like a bog story.

[astronicht]

Heya, long time tolkien fan with almost no knowledge about old english writings whatsoever here.

Could you explain what the Iron House Motif is? Saw you mentioning it in one of your posts, tried to google it, found pretty much nothing?

I mean i can kinda see what you mean about that but if you have an explanation or any examples that would be great!

Also, i love reading your lotr posts, they add so much stuff and background knowledge :)

A few people asked this regarding this silly post, and yeah it appears "iron house motif" is not a super googleable concept (i ran into it in an academic publication from 1993). Fortunately @pethaucwiar has described what it is, better than I could!

To this I'd add two things, which is that it's also pretty common in Old Norse sagas, and that iirc it sometimes also includes a house literally made of iron, so instead of burning down around your enemies, you also have the option of sticking them in a giant forge and then closing the door. This will be important later. Though honestly, you can stop here, the rest is extras.

Regarding Eowyn, there are famous variants where a woman burns her husband/enemies in a hall for revenge, in an act of self-destruction. (So-- I know she doesn't! But you see a hall, you see a woman, you get told to leave your weapons--)

The problem is, the scene I was joking about in LOTR is very much set in Rohan, and any scene in Rohan is hitting you over the head repeatedly, yelling EVERYONE HERE IS SPEAKING OLD ENGLISH. WE ARE IN AN OLD ENGLISH STORY. And the iron house motif doesn't come up much in Old English. In fact, the general fan assumption seems to be that the hall of Rohan is supposed to mimic Heorot, the hall in Beowulf (Beowulf being, famously, a story in Old English involving a big pretty hall with a king who needs an outside hero's aid; pretty clear-cut) -- over here someone argued persuasively on the same post that it's supposed to be a 1:1 comparison, and thus doesn't suggest any burning halls or iron halls etc.

A little on that! First off, Tolkien braids together his storyworlds constantly, so I'm never going to be sure that he's not going to turn a Beowulf-y hall into a burning revenge hall. But even if you read Rohan's hall as strictly 1:1 Beowulf's hall, approaching it is still kinda a stressful moment. Especially bc Beowulf is actually a really really weird example of Old English stories, where revenge hall burning feels closer than in any other OE text. For lots of reasons! None of its stories are set where people spoke Old English -- they’re set on the Continent and In The Past, purposefully referring to Germanic and Scandinavian storyworlds (where people like Eowyn, lacking any other agency, might burn down everyone). Heorot is not a normal hall, either, bc most importantly for the defense of my earlier shitpost, Beowulf's hall is literally an iron house:

"but it was fastened within and without with iron bands, smithed with crafty thoughts."

(Rutgers transl. I was not joking about it being annoying to translate; unless forced I do not translate Beowulf)

Ac he þæs fæste wæs innan ond utan iren-bendum searo-þoncum besmiþod" (lines 773-4)

So that was the joke! And those iron-bands in the walls are actually being used to keep the monster in the hall so Beowulf could fight it. (Picture wattle-and-daub, but woven with iron rods instead of reeds. This was NOT a real thing archeologically)

Basically: even if Rohan's hall is Beowulf's Heorot, it can still be a medievalist horror film moment where you scream DON'T GO IN THERE if you try hard and love the game. But truly, it was just a silly little post at the expense of CS Lewis.

[cozzzynook]

Hot Rods water breaking when the peace treaty is signed.

The peace treaty was being signed and every bot on Cybertron couldn’t be any happier.

Multiple mechs and femmes were revealing long kept secret conjunxs and partners while others were becoming conjunxed and partners.

Bots like Drift and Ratchet were revealed conjunx along with the surprising courting relationship of Wheeljack and Starscream. Not to mention Prowl and Jazz finally admitting to being conjunx. Many mechs were shocked to learn that Bumblebee was not only conjunx to Windblade but they had a sparkling together. It was obvious from the extra frame weight that Bee was the carrier and Windblade the sire.

There were a large number of same faction and cross faction couples like chromedome and rewind and knockout and breakdown. Cyclonus and Tailgate with Whirl somehow being deeply woven in was revealed. A shocking development was Optimus being with Shockwave and Soundwave being with Blaster. No bot saw those two couples coming and it was Perceptor who held his conjunx Brainstorm back from asking them just what made them connect.

Rodimus was not one to judge, he simply let the couples be and enjoyed the first official day of peace on a restored cybertron.

He couldn’t find it within himself to truly enjoy every moment though.

Not when he was currently seated with a thermal blanket covering him because he was freezing and not a single bot had seen him in a very very long time in face plate to face plate. Drift hadn’t seen him up close until the meeting and thankfully it started before Drift could hug him. He wasn’t exactly keen on bots knowing anything until the peace treaty was well signed and done with, with plenty of years between it.

Sure he was going to see Drift…after everything was said and done.

He didn’t want to interrupt his amicas honeymoon nor did he want Ratchet coming back to work, he’s completely sure they would rush back and he didn’t want that. Not to mention he didn’t have the best experience this entire time and he really didn’t want them worrying.

He already had plenty to deal with at home and he did not want more.

“You okay Roddy?”

His amica noticed him shifting uncomfortably in his seat and he nodded with a deep frame sigh as he adjusted the blanket keeping himself shapeless as he did so.

Magnus and Megatron eyed him closely and he shook his helm at them, though it did nothing to keep the pair from looking at him.

He rolled his optics and sighed again leaning back into the chair. It did little to comfort him and it seemed his discomfort was slowly progressing to pain as the meeting went along.

He felt a heavy pressure beginning to build up and he feared he was going to empty his waste tanks tight here in front of every bot at the meeting.

He refused to be embarrassed or revealed in such a manner and so he opened the comm to Magnus and Megatron asking for them to covertly hurry the process along.

The two were not at all subtle in turning towards him and completely ignoring the others who looked to them.

Rodimus was going to try and play it off and smile but it turned into a wince then grimace as he groaned squinting his optics shut and gripped his heavy protruding tanks that sat painfully tight in his lap with how large it was.

Magnus and Megatron both jumped out of there seat kneeling beside him and a haggard breath that couldn’t get anything out was followed by him feeling a very sharp pain and thunderous weight drop his tanks as he gasped and cried out.

He suddenly could not care one bit about the other bots looking at them in concern as he let Magnus and Megtron lift him using their strength as his legs turned to heavy led jelly.

The moment they had him standing the thermal blanket fell and his humongous tanks were exposed and Ratchet was yelling something as he and Drift ran towards him.

He couldn’t focus on that because in the next moment he’d grabbed hold of Megatron and Magnus servos as they held him and he squeezed hard.

The sound of liquid splashing onto the chair and floor met his audials and he gasped frame jerking from a kick before he yelped in pain.

A chorus of “he’s in emergence,” and “someone get him to a hospital,” and Whirls, “wow he’s fraggin big,” followed by Cyclonus and Tailgate shutting their conjunx up and Rodimus was carried by Megatron towards the hospital with Magnus keeping up letting him squeeze his servo while Ratchet got an operating room and Drift was right beside him.

“Really Roddy?! Why didn’t you tell me you were sparked?!! I told you when me and Ratty had our sparkling!”

And okay other bots didn’t know Ratchet and Drift had a sparkling and they also were quickly learning just who the sires to Rodimus sparklings were.

“I’m sorry Drift,” Rodimus panted trying to remember to vent, “You would’ve been the first to see them I promise. I just…,” Rodimus yelled as he felt another pulse and he squeezed harder on Magnus servo, “really didn’t wanna bother you guys on your honeymoon or worry you.”

Rodimus groaned from the pain and from the fact that the sparkling wasn’t moving down low just yet.

“Wait!”

Magnus and Megatron stopped and looked at Rodimus in pure worry before hearing him say, “sign the treaty.”

They looked at him in confusion and began to protest like many others when Rodimus snapped and gripped them both by their neck cables.

“Sign the damn treaty now so we won’t be back here later! I will not have my sparklings until it’s signed!”

The signatures between Megatron and Optimus were quick making the war officially declared over.

As they began leaving again they heard Rodimus groan and yell in pain,

“I will murder the bot who made it mandatory for me to be at this fragging meeting!”

In the background Optimus looked around nervously and it was Bee who looked to his sire while calming his own sparkling down did he give the mech a heated glare. His carrier emotions were still in full flux and that meant he didn’t really give a slag about rank as he stood and stalked over to the mech who looked nervous.

Windblade didn’t do anything to stop her conjunx and Shockwave just made sure Bee didn’t do too much verbal damage.

It was early the next morning that Rodimus, Magnus and Megatron were greeted by their twin sparklings.

Drift was smiling from audial to audial taking multiple photos while recording the whole thing as Ratchet did the delivery.

Rodimus was fast in deep recharge after passing out while Megatron and Magnus held the two sparklings crying.

They were so tiny compared to their servos and they looked just like their sires only having Rodimus’s spoiler.

Just like their creators they made a very grand entrance.

[thegoldensanctuary]

Part VIII: Louis XV’s Summer Set (N⁰ 2200)

When Louis XV returned to Versailles in 1722 and took possession of his great-grandfather's royal apartments, the Garde-Meuble had to provide a new summer set for the bedchamber cabinet since the previous one had left the palace after the Sun King’s death. Lallie was charged with the task, and on the 8th of May, 1723, he delivered a new set of furniture covered in a purple and crimson background brocade which received the number 2200. The set was created using several brocades from Lyon delivered by Gautier in 1688. The set remained in the bedchamber for the rest of Louis XV’s reign and most of the reign of his successor, who restored it in 1776 [161].

8.1.1 The Tapestry Itself

Described in 1723 as being made of a “brocade from Lyon with purple and crimson background, with compartments, cornucopia, and large flowers woven in silver and gold, with crimson silk used around as contour [nuee de soye cramoisy]” [162], it is said that brocade numbers 48 and 49 were used for that set. The description of these brocades from the 1729 general inventory provides additional details [163]: the compartments are referred to as “large compartments,” and there is mention of rinceaux ornaments woven in gold, which was not noted in 1723. The description also specifies the roles of the purple and crimson: purple was the main background color of the brocade, while crimson was used as the background color within the compartment and as a contour around the woven ornaments. This description allows us to trace the brocade’s origin. Indeed, on the 7th of October, 1688, the Garde-Meuble diary records the entry of a new brocade delivered by Gautier under the numbers 123 [164], 132, 133, and 134, with a description matching that of number 48 from the 1729 general inventory.

In the alcove, five pieces of this brocade were placed alongside six pieces of column brocade similar to those described in Part 7.1, which, by that time, had been renumbered as 52 in the 1729 general inventory [165].

8.1.2 The Bed

As before, the set featured a large state bed containing:

The Headboard: Described as enriched with gold leaf ornaments and gold braid [166].

The Valences: Three outer and four inner valences, described as being “enriched with woven gold leaf ornaments, forming festoons” [167]. The comma in between could suggest that the festoon shape describes only the valences, not the woven details. However, since most valences of the time had woven decorations that followed the valences' shapes, it would be safe to assume that this description applies to both. While no fringes are explicitly mentioned alongside the valences, the presence of woven gold crepines at their bottom may suggest their presence, especially since the bed bases, similar in description, included fringes. Furthermore, the work report by L’Heritier during the 1776 restoration explicitly charged for gold fringes for the valences of the summer bed [168], giving the valences an appearance close to those described in Part 6.2.

The Curtains: Two bonnes grâces, four curtains, and two cantonières made of the purple and crimson brocade with gold braid and fringes, lined with a crimson satin woven with gold and featuring multiple compartments [169].

The Quilt: Made of the same brocade, adorned with gold braids and fringes.

The Case Curtain: Made of crimson gros de Tours, with large and medium-sized gold fringes at the bottom and edges, hanging from a golden rod [170].

The Columns: The four columns were sheathed in crimson satin with gold and silver woven decorations [171].

The Vases/Finials: Four in total (one at each corner), filled with 120 feathers, covered in brocade with added gold leaf patterns and braids [172].

8.1.3 The Armchairs and Stools

Two armchairs and twelve stools were listed for this set. The brocade used for their upholstery differed from that of the bed and the alcove, described as “another narrow brocade with a crimson background, featuring cornucopia and fleurets with gold and silver, with a contour of purple silk to match the bed’s brocade” [173]. This detail reinforces the idea that the bed’s main brocade color was indeed purple. This brocade likely corresponds with brocade number 36 from the 1729 general inventory [174], which is said to have been used for this set at the end of the entry [175]. This brocade came from a delivery in 1686 by the Parisian manufacturer Charlier, initially assigned the number 93 [176].

One detail stands out when comparing descriptions: the contour around the silver and gold decorations is said to have been purple silk when used on the stools and armchairs in 1723, whereas it was originally green silk in 1686. It is likely that this alteration was made by Lallie or one of his suppliers to better match the purple color of the other brocade.

The woods are noted as having been gilded and sculpted “very richly.” This detail is interesting as it may reflect a stylistic shift occurring at that time, with more richly decorated armchairs that, unlike their Louis XIV counterparts, featured backrests framed by a visible, elaborately sculpted wooden border.

The entry also references gold fringes and braids.

8.1.4 The Fire Screen

The screen was covered in the same purple and crimson brocade as used for the bed and the alcove. The wood was sculpted and gilded, and the central motif of the brocade was surrounded by a gold braid [177].

8.1.5 The Table and Tablecloth

The table was made of walnut and described as having a lower cabinet shape (table en bas d’armoire) with a counter on each side, closing with a key. While convertible cabinets were common in the 18th century, this specific design with only a lower part and counters on each side was very unusual. It measured 42 inches long, 29 inches wide, and 31 inches tall [178].

This table is mentioned in the 1751 Versailles inventory as a “lower walnut cabinet opening from both sides” [179] and was present in the winter decor alongside set number 1881 (discussed in Part 4). Although it was omitted from the summer set, we can infer its presence by the mention of the tablecloth and the practice of mentioning items present in both summer and winter only once [180]. Later Versailles inventories omit the table but continue to list the tablecloth used alongside it.

The tablecloth had four bases—three of the purple brocade and the fourth of taffeta—all embellished with gold braids and fringes and lined with taffeta.

8.1.7 The Portiere Tapestries

Set 2200 featured, like the previous sets, four portiere tapestries in front of each of the four doors. Each was made using three pieces of the purple brocade, with gold fringes at the side and bottom, and lined with crimson taffeta [181].

[161] AN O1/3625

[162] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 351 v⁰

[163] AN O1/3338 f⁰ 275 r⁰

[164] AN O1/3306 f⁰ 108 v⁰

[165] AN O1/3338 f⁰ 276 r⁰

[166] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 351 v⁰

[167] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 351 v⁰

[168] AN O1/3625, L’Heritier’s work report

[169] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 351 v⁰

[170] Ibid f⁰ 352 r⁰

[171] Ibid

[172] Ibid

[173] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 352 r⁰

[174] AN O1/3346 f⁰ 273 r⁰

[175] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 354 r⁰

[176] AN O1/3306 f⁰ 14 v⁰

[177] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 352 v⁰

[178] Ibid

[179] AN O1/3454 p. 2

[180] See previous notes

[181] AN O1/3309 f⁰ 352 v⁰

[senalishia]

DAY TWO of @silmsmutweek! "Coast" and "cross-cultural relationships" both suggested to me Finarfin/Earwen, so under the cut is another 400 words of one of their first sexual experiences together. Content note: contemplation of sexual morality in a world with gods who live next door and, uh, butt stuff.

“Those who live outside the Calacirya,” Arafinwe's mother had reminded him, “do not always honor the Valar in the same way we do, here in the fullness of Their light.” And in her frustrating, this is something you need to learn for yourself way, “You must be prepared to choose the ways that seem right to you.”

He understood better, when he saw his friends in Alqualonde slipping away into the shadows beyond the beach bonfires in pairs or triads or more, leading each other by the hand in every possible combination of genders behind boathouses and under piers, to elicit sounds from each other that the humid, starlit air did nothing to muffle.

And while his mother certainly must have an opinion of her own, he had been given leave to decide his own path.

He didn't say no when his best friend took his hand and led him to a small grotto well prepared with quilts and cushions. Nor when she began to kiss him, really kiss him, with lips and teeth and tongue. Nor when she stripped them both of the finely-woven cloth they had been draped in.

Then she asked if he wanted to see something fun, and showed him the suggestively carved rod of ivory and bottle of fragrant olive oil she'd brought along. 

He didn't know why, exactly, he'd agreed to be the one to receive it. Misplaced gallantry perhaps? She'd told him she'd enjoy it either way. Or maybe he was too curious and too trusting for his own good. This time, she made him say yes with his actual mouth before she directed him onto his hands and knees.

She was merely petting him softly along the back and telling him how very good he was doing for her as she slowly, gently pressed her little toy deeper and deeper into his asshole. He was merely gripping the fabric beneath his hands, trying not to weep and failing not to moan at the intensity of the sensation.

They weren't touching each other anywhere they shouldn't, he told himself, though he'd grown achingly hard and she kept wriggling her hips needily. They hadn't even unbraided their hair. He could almost assert that they weren't getting up to anything improper at all. 

But she was the princess of this land, after all. Surely she wouldn’t encourage her best friend into any behavior that might be considered sinful.

They just honored the Valar differently here, was all.