#and he thought about it. and he said becoming better friends with etho

[laddertek]

shoutout to you giving us the tangtho highlights of the decked out 2 streams

hahaha thank you. I'm far from providing all the highlights because there are simply Too Many. that I just don't post about all of them. but hooo boy are the tangtho enjoyers living well right now!!

[greeenchrysanthemums]

@thatlesbainmushroom and @jjlovesgoodies (hope you don't mind the tags, I was not sure how else to make sure you seen this<3) both said yes to hearing about my roomies zombie au, so here it is!! Though, I must admit that it is more of a half-baked idea than a fully thought out au. I'm not sure if I will ever actually write it, so it's free game with credit.

I suppose a TW is required before you read any further. It is a zombie au, so it is pretty grim. Mentions of death, blood, injury, and other apocalypse typical things.

Etho and Cleo were college roommates before everything went to shit. Cleo was a graphic design and arts student in her fourth year, while Etho was an engineering student in his second year. They have been together since the start, and were actually in their dorm room when the chaos started. Bdubs used to be with them, but they lost track of him (and his horse) months ago. They assume he is dead.

Grian was a first year architect student from a few towns over. His group consisted of his roommates, Jimmy and Joel, along with his work friend, Scar.

None of them had ever used a gun before the apocalypse, so it is none of their preferred weapon. Cleo has a baseball bat, Grian has a knife, and Etho has a machete. Etho and Grian both carry handguns but rarely use them. Cleo knows how to use a gun but does not carry one and would have to be in mortal danger to be convinced to use it.

Cleo is immune to the bite, something they found out at the beginning because a classmate had bitten her and she never turned. Though, this immunity would not hold any narrative weight. The world has fallen apart, there wouldn't be anyone left to try to find a cure from her anyway. They are just focused on surviving and trying to keep each other safe.

However, because of her immunity, she does take risks that Etho doesn't/can't. She used to be a real softy, not much a fighter who was all bark no bite, but she would do anything to protect Etho. She has many scars, from bites and scratches, because of this reckless behavior.

It would start with Grian having just been separated from his group and he's been wandering around the remains of a big city looking for them. He eventually gets overwhelmed by a hoard and ends up cornered in an alley, where he is then saved by Etho, who kills the zombies and offers to bring him back to his camp.

Grian says no and tells him he has to keep looking for his group, but Etho is persistent. Grian caves and agrees to go with him when Etho offers to help look for his missing friends; no strings attached.

The group traverses the remains of the burning world together for several months looking for Grian's group and slowly getting to know each other. Etho and Cleo share information freely, but Grian is more reserved. He only answers simple questions about his past. They barley know anything about this group they are trying to find. Instead of opening up as the months' pass by, he actually becomes more and more reserved.

He keeps asking why they keep helping him when they have no obligation to do so, especially since he's given them next to no information or reason to trust him, and they say why not? They don't have anything better to do than lend him a helping hand.

Grian leads them more and more northwest as time goes on, telling them that he was told to head in this direction to meet back up with his group, but still, they find no trace of them.

Around 6-7 months into traveling together, the group do a supply run in a mall that they thought was safe and end up getting trapped inside with no way out after Grian brings some kind of a display/structure down on top of himself on accident and it attracts a hoard that was hidden away out of sight.

They are very low on ammo, Etho was bit while getting Grian out from under the display, Grian was injured by the accident, and they're all too exhausted and malnourished to fight. They make it into a staff area, but there's no exit that they see, so they barricade the door. It is only a matter of time before the hoard breaks through.

Sitting inside of the small room, Grian admits to them that his group was already dead and had been for a while. He tells them that he had actually been ready to die that day Etho found him. He felt bad letting Etho's kindness (which was a rarity in this dying world) go to waste, so he went along with it.

He was just along for the ride at first, leading them on a wild goose chase while waiting for a chance to leave them, but then he grew to care for them. He never thought he would find friends again in a world like this, but, somehow, he did. They gave him a purpose, a reason to keep going. They made him want to live again. They made him happy. They made him laugh; something so simple and yet so important.

He didn't want them to leave him behind once they found out the truth, so he'd kept lying to them and pretending like he was still searching so that they would have a reason to keep helping him, a reason to have him around.

He was closing himself off all that time in an attempt to hold onto the one good thing in his life. He tells them that he's sorry, that he loves them, and that he's scared.

Cleo and Etho say they don't care that he's been lying, and that he's just as important to them as they are to him. They say that whatever happens next, they'll do it together.

And then in my mind it would end somewhat ambiguously/open ended as the zombie's break through.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Not One of Many - Chapter Eighteen.

I am thrilled by the response to this story and thank each and every one of you for your commitment to reading it :) you are all beautiful people!

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,119

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

“I lived in the suburb of Millsborough in Kingston until I was ten, which was when my mother and father relocated to the UK, my father garnering a coveted spot at chambers not far from where I am currently resided.”

Beth was knee deep in getting to know you chit chat with Marcus and Steve, the former detailing of his rise through the world of investment, a businessman like Alfie, except Marcus bought up companies on the brink of bankruptcy for a steal, and turned them back into multi-million-pound corporations. She also learned that it was just another part of Alfie’s lucrative investment portfolio, that he owned a considerable wedge in shares for a good number of them.  

As she sipped her drink, it was now Steve who was explaining his own roots to her, his life always immersed in the legal system, naturally since both of his parents came from such a background.  

“And what do you specialise in?” She asked with curiosity.

“As a seasoned barrister, I like to think I can turn my hand to most areas of law, but I specialise in criminal defence and immigration law.”

“Have you fought any cases I might have heard within the media?” Steve loved her inquisitiveness, the very ethos of a talented journalist one might say, but he knew Beth was asking for her own curiousness in wanting to get to know Alfie’s friends better.  

The only other of his girlfriends whom he’d met who even had a flicker of interest over what he did had been dear, sweet little Mimi, albeit most of his explanations sailing over straight over her head. Her grasp of mathematics had impressed him hugely, though. He’d never seen anyone work through a Sudoku puzzle at such a speed, and she’d never made a miscalculation either. One whom he hadn’t cared for at all was still propping up the bar, her cackle audible over just about anything else. He detested when women tried too hard, especially those who were beginning to become sloppily drunk, as Talia was. All in an effort to show a man who couldn’t care less how well she was doing without him.  

“It is very likely, yes, Beth. I recently successfully fought for twenty people who became embroiled in the fallout of the Windrush scandal to remain in the UK. A hard slog, four years of back and forth and moments where I thought I would not succeed, but my effort prevailed, them and their families being granted the right to remain.”

“Oh, that’s absolutely fantastic! Yes, I do remember now, well, the broader of the entire Windrush debacle, I do. My pal Kinga covered a lot of it,” she revealed, Steve’s eyes widening.

“Kinga Clarke?”

“Yes, don’t tell me that you know her?”

He clapped his hands together, laughing with mirth. “Oh, Kinga and I go way back! We were at the same boarding school, albeit her three years below me. We meet up whenever our schedules allow. She’s a bloody good egg, that girl. We must meet up again and you bring her along, I haven’t seen her in about eight months, it’d be splendid to catch up!”  

She agreed such was a fantastic idea, Alfie too.  

“Yeah, I wanna make a point to get to know your friends, darlin’. Set something up and we’ll do it soon. I’m looking forward to seeing them all tomorrow though, it has to be said.” He referred there to the ELLE magazine party, Magda managing to squeeze him onto the guestlist as well. Fashion parties weren’t really his scene, but he’d go anywhere Beth required him to. Anything to spend time with his beloved.  

It was while the lady herself was enthralling his friends with the same wit and charisma that had hooked him in the first place that he glanced in the direction of the bar, seeing his ex-girlfriend continuing in the pursuit of making a fool of herself. Screaming with laughter, hanging off men’s necks, having them buy her drinks and showing off to her friends. God, she’d become so messy. Their breakup had sent her into a tailspin, it seemed, the usually elegant woman who respected herself much more than the behaviour he was witnessing gone from her entirely.  

“It’s sad, isn’t it? But don’t let her get to you. She’s vying for your attention, but I have no idea who on earth she thinks she’s fooling with the grandiose ‘I’m having such a good time without you’ routine. It smacks of desperation,” Beth spoke, leaning close to him, Steve and Marcus discussing something the latter was displaying on his phone.  

He was about to reply, Talia catching his eye and lifting both her middle fingers in his direction, Alfie feeling his temper shoot up sharply, his forehead creasing.  

“Hey, hey,” Beth began, turning his face to hers. “Don’t let her wind you up.”

“She’s fuckin’ disrespecting me in my own fuckin’ bar though, baby.”

She stroked his arm, trying to de-escalate his rising ire. “I know, I know, but she’s looking for a reaction. Show her none and you have the upper hand, don’t you? Come on, gorgeous. No more of these, no more of the Solomons crinkles.”

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “The what?”

“When you frown and your forehead crinkles. Those are the Solomons crinkles!”

“I’ll be giving you the Drake smacked arse if I have any more like that out of you, young lady!”  

“Why? I love them! Except for now, because some silly twat is pissing you off.”

“You’re inferring I need botox in me ‘ead!”

She gasped, smacking his arm. “I inferred no such thing!”

His frown deepened, Beth moving to kiss his forehead. “Don’t you try and sweeten me now, treacle, oh no! Damage has been done!”

“Shhh.” She kissed him into silence, poking his frown lines. “Solomons crinkles.” She then added in a voice so cute, he couldn’t help but smile at her.  

“That cuteness gets around me every bloody time. You women, you wield so many weapons.”

She beamed; her grin huge. “I quite agree! Now, give me kisses.” He obliged, his hand stroking her thigh while the other clasped her hand. She knew how to bring him back down from anger in an instant, which was no easy feat. She knew him better after only a few months and just shy of one month actually in a relationship than Talia had for the entire year he’d been with her. Then again, she paid attention to him and the person he was beyond his body and his bank balance, as Alfie was slowly coming to realise. If he scrutinised it, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel, those were at the top of Talia’s list for her where dating him had been concerned.  

“Good bloody heavens! That’s the third man she’s welded herself to at the mouth! Reminds me of one of those little algae eating fish that people who keep tanks have to suck all the algae from the glass!” Steve exclaimed, turning back to the table, shaking his head as he re-tied his long, thick dreadlocks, Alfie and Marcus in hysterics. Beth would have been, except her eyes were on Talia, watching as she suddenly came steaming through the crowd, hurling herself at the roped off section, the glass she held launched, missing Beth’s leg by a fraction.  

“You fucking cunt! You stole my boyfriend!” she screamed, Alfie out of his seat in second, the two nearby bouncers hanging back but remaining alert for further instruction from their boss.  

“You don’t throw anything at her, you hear me? You don’t ever fuckin’ come near her, yeah?” he spoke sternly, Talia crinkling her nose in disgust.  

“He finished with me, for that devious little slag over there, you know! I mean, he let this go, for that!” she then shouted at a group of people at a table within the VIP, gesturing to herself and then Beth, everyone witnessing it thinking the same thing. They didn’t blame him at all if her claims had been the case. “I want to talk to you, Alfie.”

“You’ve got fuck all I wanna hear, Talia.”

“Then I want to talk to your bitch girlfriend!”  

He nodded at Paul and Rhonda, the pair moving forward to take her arms and behind towing her in the direction of the door.  

“You don’t ever fuckin’ come near her.” he repeated sternly. “Make sure she don’t come back in. Not now or ever. She’s barred. Permanently.” His doormen nodded, Talia thrashing so wildly that Rhonda was given no choice but to fully body hug her to get her out of there, Paul clearing patrons out of the way, Talia still screaming. “Right, now she’s dealt with, another round?” he asked, arriving back at the table, his friends and Beth looking stunned.  

“I feel like going to stick my head directly under the optics after witnessing that,” Marcus exclaimed, his eyes wide as he drained the last of his Courvoisier, Alfie beckoning one of the bar staff over to take the orders.  

“You alright, duchess?” he asked, taking a seat again, his hand smoothing down her thigh.  

“I’m fine, the glass didn’t hit me and her words failed to hit the mark as well. It takes more than a silly, drunken mess to dent me. How about you?”

He frowned, his eyebrows then fluttering up, sipping his drink. “I’m sitting here kicking myself that I spent a year with that mess.”

“In your defence, she wasn’t a mess when you were with her, though,” Beth reasoned, her eye caught by the sight outside, the doorwoman repeatedly having to push Talia away from attempting to gain entrance again, before unsurprisingly, she turned to vomit all over the pavement.  

“Whatever she was, she still ain’t a patch on you, baby beast.” He kissed her softly, nuzzling her cheek.

“Baby beast?” Marcus asked, pointing at Beth. “Why?”

Alfie grinned, undoing a couple of the buttons of his white shirt, revealing a fraction of the portrait Beth had painted with her lust upon his chest. “That’s why.”  

“Bloody hell!” his friends both chorused at once, wincing, giving Beth looks of disbelief.

She shrugged, nonchalant. “He likes it.”  

“Oh, love, we know what he’s like. When we were twenty-two, we went to Ibiza for a fortnight. First night there, some bird came over with a bullwhip and cracked him straight over the back with it. His response was to shoulder lift her out of the club, take her back to his hotel room and shag the hell out of her for the rest of the night. His back looked like the road map of Great Britain after she was finished with him!” Marcus revealed, sending Beth into hysterics, glad she’d paused from taking a sip of her cocktail.  

Their night was fantastic from there on in, arriving back at Alfie’s at just gone 2am, but not falling asleep until 4am. The following morning, he got up to let Cyril out, ordering them breakfast to be delivered from the best kosher deli nearby, salmon and cream cheese toasted bagels and two portions of matzo brei on their way, brewing some coffee and taking it back upstairs.  

“You stay right there, let’s have a lie in,” he spoke as Beth sat up, reaching for her cappuccino.

“What time is it?”

“Only half eight.”

“Are you just getting back up here from a workout?”  

“Nah, love. I did my cardio in the early hours.” He certainly had, too. “I’m giving myself a day off for anything that doesn’t involve spending time with you.”  

That surprised her, that he was content to just relax. She had nothing on all day and had planned to just chill out there regardless of his plans, rather than heading back to her flat, so having his presence was nice. He worked much too hard and needed to take more time for himself. “Oh, I ordered brekkie too, so we’re all sorted to sit here and do fuck all.”  

That suited her down to the ground. A rare Saturday of doing absolutely nothing at all other than moving location to the cinema room to continue watching documentaries together while they ate, shower fresh and dressed in comfy clothes, Beth buried in a pair of his loaned sweatpants. He’d had her in hysterics already by saying they looked like MC Hammer trousers on her.  

In the end, the fact they’d only slept for four and a half hours took its toll, both cuddling up with one another for a nap, Beth lying against his chest, pondering for a few moments before she fell asleep. It was so easy with him, how comfortable she was already, unguarded and totally relaxed around him. Usually in a new relationship, she wouldn’t let herself slip in ways like letting him see her without makeup on, or having a wee in front of him, silly little things like that. That morning she’d run into the bathroom to go to the toilet and not batted an eyelid when Alfie had come in to brush his teeth while she was mid-tinkle.

He was so easy going, their vibe together meshed perfectly. The only thing about him that irritated her slightly was his refusal to let her pay for anything, but she knew if it became more of an issue, she could approach such with him through discussion. It wasn’t something that came easily to him, not being a provider, generous as he was with his earnings.  

Kissing his chest, she closed her eyes, her impending slumber only disturbed by Cyril jumping up to position himself within the gap in their entanglement of legs, resting his head on her leg, Beth scratching his shoulder with her foot before falling asleep. Once they had awoken again, the leisurely pace of their day was put on the back burner a little, Alfie decreeing that he needed a workout, feeling odd for not hitting the gym, while Beth sat out in the shade of the garden, finishing off one of her three articles she was currently working on.

“And look at that, big C. I’m all done. Would you like to go for a walk?” At hearing the W word, the bullmastiff lifted his head, his ears pricked. “Shall we go find your dad, hmm? Where’s dad?” The dog heaved himself up, trotting into the house, following Alfie’s scent until he found him, gulping back a protein shake in the kitchen, wrapped in a towel. “Someone wants to go for a w-a-l-k.”  

“Yeah, you wanna go the park, lad?” Alfie questioned, Cyril jumping around and barking. “I think that’s a yes. Let me just go get me gear on and I’ll be back.”

“How was your workout?” she asked, just as he was about to leave the kitchen.

“Fuckin’ painful, treacle. Worth it, though. Look at them!” Flexing his biceps, he grinned, Beth virtually swooning. The muscles on him. He was so thick and sexy. Dressed in just a towel and he made her pulse flip, but suited Alfie was where it was at for her. That night, he chose a dark olive-green suit and waistcoat, with a black shirt, the buttons undone a little casually, complimenting her dress beautifully. She'd decided to go with her favourite Matthew Williamson maxi dress, the earthy hues and abstract pattern perfect, dressing it up with a few pieces of nice jewellery, pinning her hair up save a few wispy strands here and there.

They arrived at the rooftop location of the party an hour later, fabulous people everywhere, a few acquaintances stopping to say hello to Beth, until she spied one of her own fabulous people and made a beeline across the party for her.  

“Babe, you look a bloody treat. Come here, give us a little smooch!” Magda welcomed her with, air kissing her cheek to avoid her trademark bright red, Chanel painted lips printing Beth’s cheek. “Alfie, you look like sex on legs as usual.” Magda’s attest made him laugh, kissing her cheek, being swiftly introduced to Dennis.  

“So, I hear you’re in the classic car business?” That was it, their men were lost to conversation over all things automotive, Beth taking a champagne flute from the passing tray, Magda smiling warmly.  

“Now, what’s all this I hear about a very lucky young lady getting her first Birkin, then?”

Confused, Beth wondered what she’d missed there, knowing she’d yet to reveal such to her bestie. “How did you know?”

Magda jerked her head in Alfie’s direction. “Your fella here phoned me at work and asked which one it was that you wanted. Ain’t he lush, ay? He’d said he was looking to get you the red one, but I said to him, ‘no, no, sunshine! Dark blue, that’s the one she’s in love with!’ and now there you go, you have it, and I’m only a tiny bit envious!” That revelation touched Beth deeply, that he’d been so concerned in getting the correct one she’d wanted, he’d called her best friend for advice.  

They chatted for a while longer as a two, having a little schmooze with other guests here and there before they were joined then by Kinga and Oliver after an hour, the latter with his mouth full of canapes, wiping away crumbs before he gave Beth a kiss, Kinga moving in for a little air smooch as well.  

“I met someone last night who knows you!” she exclaimed, Kinga’s eyes widening. “Steve Barklay.”

“Barkie! Oh my lord, how is he?” she cried, clapping her hands together with mirth.

“He’s really well, spoke nothing but very highly of you and suggested we all go out as a group soon.” Kinga nodded vigorously at the prospect, Beth then detailing the events of the rest of the evening to them, Talia and her drunken, glass throwing, abuse hurling antics.  

“Jesus bloody wept! What a flippin’ state!” Magda exclaimed, shocked. “I would have thrown a pissin’ table at her, had I seen her launch anything in your direction.”

Beth cooed at her bestie’s fiery protective streak, giving her a little one-armed hug, Kinga and Oliver exchanging sudden curious glances with each other. “Darling, this Talia girl. I don’t suppose she’s a redhead with a, I’m unsure what it is fully, but has a tattoo containing leaves on her back?” the latter questioned, Beth feeling her heart somersault.

“Yes, that’s her. Why’d you ask?”

“Because she was trying to gain entry to the party just as we were arriving.”

Hearing that Alfie's ex-girlfriend had moved on from glass throwing and abuse hurling to following them was news Beth didn’t particularly relish in learning that evening.  

[cxncordia]

You want some sad (and wordy) HCs about Addison?

Addison Blake is an old mentor. He looks young, but he's probably near his 80 years (damn good magic spells to keep himself young). In his universe he lived the Week of Nightmares: a meta-plot game event in World of Darkness where most of the game lines worked together to stop a very bad old af vampire with disastrous consequences for every game. At the same time, he also lived the Fall of Doissetep. He was one of the up-and-coming mages in the largest Chantry during the time of the fall.

These events scarred Addison enough to not want to repeat the errors of the past. So he seeks for young students to train and to develop, with the full intention to train into them a group-oriented collaborative ethics. He wants them to be much better than he and the old magi of Doissetep were. He wants them to help the order thrive in the events of M20.

Now comes my chronicle México Máxico where heirofhermes once belonged to. His character was Addison's alumn (thus why I'll reffer to him as the Protegé) and he mentored the young mage to become a reformer to the Order of Hermes. He saw in the young boy that ethos and an iconoclasm that could lead the Order to higher heights... However, since I had to drop my relationship with said player, I needed to come with in-character solutions for their disappearance.

This is where Amotlamini happens.

Amotlamini (Endless in Nahuatl) is Toño's story. He is a friend to said character at the time and he is inspecting how he feels constantly used and manipulated for the Protegé who seems to always get away with his desires and rarely taking into consideration his opinion. During the chronicle, the players (along Toño) received a prophecy: for them to win the battle against the final boss, "they had to be anointed in the blood of Parricide." Signifying mostly that the old ways of dealing with this issue were not going to work.

At one point, Toño is even knocked out in game due to an spell that the Protegé failed to cast (this is why I tell you that dice rolling is so fun: it creates new story opportunities). When the dust is cleared and the Protegé and Toño talk to each other, the first thing the Protegé is worried about is not Toño's health or his emotions after being hurt to the point of loosing conscience, but about not being seen with disdain by Toño, when he questions his ethics on not saving a group of mages trapped by the season's final boss.

This is the main reason why the Protegé is, for the most part, painted as a Traitor at the end of this chronicle: the only people who care about not being seen as Villains are the Villains themselves. Toño eventually realizes of this and he had to fight the Protegé off, casting him to another dimension along with the big enemy of the chronicle.

And this is where the sad HC happens:

Addison is completely disgusted and disapproves of what his alumni has become. What he once regarded as a personal accomplishment for he thought he had brought a new change to the Order of Hermes, is now stained by the actions of the Protegé. Ashamed, he hides himself and changes his identity, until Toño finds him and they decide to create The Sagittarius Society to finally put an end to this menace.

This is terrible for Addison. He feels grief, shame and a sense of absolute betrayal, for what he wanted has been twisted into a horrible fate. How do you come to terms with the fact that your own student is one of the reasons why the city is up in pieces? Toño and the other Sagittarius men lift Addison up and with the strength of them all combined, Toño launches the final arrow against the Protege's chest, knocking him back into a powerful cross-dimensional gate.

Adan, Dio and Toño eventually travel to Montréal for different reasons, where they decide to join Concordia, the city's chantry. They call Addison to join them and make him see that while, yes, this was a painful experience, it's not the end of the road and the new chantry offers him a new beginning where he could reform the Order as he once imagined.

And while the pangs of betrayal sometimes catch him unprepared, for the most part Addison is looking at the future with bright eyes and conviction.

[kingstylesdaily]

Exclusive: Harry Styles Shares the Meaning Behind His New Album, 'Harry's House'

On his new album, Harry Styles explores themes of belonging, peace, and discovering domestic bliss wherever you can find it.

By Lou Stoppard

Looking back, it was undoubtedly risky suggesting to meet Harry Styles, the global music megastar, the apple of so many millions of eyes, at a public open-air swimming pool in London on an unusually sunny March morning—right when people were bouncing around the city with a vaguely manic, newly liberated energy, catalyzed by the total lift on COVID restrictions. But swimmers, particularly all-weather swimmers (the lido I chose is unheated and open year-round), take the meditative pleasure of swimming seriously, as Styles himself, who swims outdoors daily, knows well. "I feel like people who have discovered cold water swimming are just so happy for you that you've also found it," Styles said. In other words, no one is hassling you for water-side photos. Indeed, around us, most swimmers were doing an admirable job of feigning indifference to the fact that an instantly recognizable pinup (the hair, the face, the tattoos) was stripped off, poolside.

Styles has spent the last few years on a quest to enjoy things for what they are, to "be in the moment," as he put it. Swimming is good for this; it's hard to think about anything else when you are struggling to keep breathing. Just before the pandemic, in December 2019, Styles released his second solo album, Fine Line, to acclaim. The corresponding live shows, Love On Tour, were due to start in April 2020. But by then, the pandemic was raging; disaster declarations had been made across the U.S., and Europe was on lockdown. Styles had envisaged himself busy, playing packed shows each night, the music bellowing from his lungs, his pearls and sequins glittering in the light. Instead, nothing. "Suddenly, the screaming stopped," he said. Everything was canceled, an end to the relentless merry-go-round of attention Styles has been on since 2010—then a smiling 16-year-old in a skinny scarf that would hint at the kind of fey hip-wiggling rocker he would go on to become a decade later—when he appeared on the British talent show The X Factor and was set on a conveyer belt to stardom.

Now Styles was stuck in L.A. for months with nothing to do. "It was the first time I'd stopped since I left my mum's," he said. For a while, at the beginning of lockdown, productivity drilled into him, Styles felt like he should work, create. The ethos with One Direction (the boy band he was packaged into on The X Factor) was always more, next, bigger, better. It was "all about how do you keep it going and how do you get it to grow," he said. "There were so many years where, for me, especially in the band and the first few years coming out of it, I'd just been terrified of it ending, because I didn't necessarily know who I was if I didn't do music."

Styles came to see that COVID was out of his control, that he just had to ride it out. He bubbled with a group of friends and for about six weeks did "practically nothing." Didn't write any music. Didn't record. He was suddenly just another young guy in a house-share trying not to bug his roommates. Styles came to realize that his past schedule had facilitated avoidance. "Whether it was with friends or people I was dating, I was always gone before it got to the point of having to have any difficult conversations," he said. So he used lockdown to commit to being a better friend, son, brother. He pushed himself to confront things he hadn't brought up, had many long, honest chats. And like most people who found themselves suddenly very, very inside, he thought a lot about the idea of home—about belonging, peace, sanctuary. "I realized that that home feeling isn't something that you get from a house; it's more of an internal thing. You realize that when you stop for a minute," he said.

A few months later when he started recording in L.A., and later in Oxfordshire and London, he thought about what he was doing not as the creation of a new record but as an extension of that time kicking back with friends (he has a close-knit circle and was living with some of the same people he writes and plays with). "I've always made my worst, most generic work when I'm just desperate to get a single," he explained. So he tried to see what he was doing as open, speculative. That is, he has realized, his great skill as a musician; he's not naturally gifted at guitar or piano, not the most confident singer, can't read music, but he excels when it comes to bringing people together. He is at his best, he said, when he pulls away from what is formal or expected and does something playful, collaborative, instinctive, fun. While Fine Line is full of references to Styles' musical heroes (Joni Mitchell, David Bowie, Van Morrison), this time, when he started recording, he deliberately didn't listen to anything—except classical, music that cleansed him of sonic references—so he could start again with "a blank canvas."

He knew he had to commit to the reset, to the sense of a fresh start that was happening across his life. He is aware that this all sounds a bit pretentious, a bit airy-fairy, but then, who didn't get caught up in a rush of pandemic life-improvement epiphanies? "I think everyone went through a big moment of self-reflection, a lot of navel-gazing, and I don't know if there's anything more navel-gazing than making an album. It's so self-absorbed," he said.

Two years on, Styles and I are meeting because that album, titled Harry's House, is about to be announced to the world. The day before we meet, I listened to the album in a room at Sony's London headquarters under the watchful eye of a company executive. Only a handful of people knew then about its existence, and, overwhelmed by the pressure of secrecy, I briefly freaked out when I found myself audibly humming one of the songs on the train home. Harry's House is, as you can probably guess, about home. Not just home in the sense of a physical space—though there are plenty of references to kitchens and "sitting in the garden" and "maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two"—but also to home "in terms of a headspace or mental well-being," as Styles put it. "It sounds like the biggest, and the most fun, but it's by far the most intimate," he said of the album.

At this point, Styles and I were sitting with a coffee on a patch of grass outside the pool, and I had begun to realize that I had kept him in the cold water way, way too long. He was visibly shaking. "Two lengths was too much," he agreed. I think we were both trying to show off—me, nonchalance to a popular heartthrob, and him, hardiness to another committed cold water swimmer. I became worried I had incapacitated him, something that would get me into great trouble, as a member of his team reminded me by text later, as he was due to perform at Coachella in a few weeks. "If you killed me, it would make for a good story," Styles said, eager to see the sunny side. We set off in search of heat.

Almost anyone who meets Styles will tell you how polite, breezy he is. Few interviews go by without mentioning his charm. Indeed, it is hard not to describe his boyish enthusiasm in the same campy, knowing cheesiness that enlivens his songs ("strawberries on a summer evenin'" or the exquisitely saccharine, "If I was a bluebird, I would fly to you; you be the spoon, dip you in honey so I can be sticking to you," from "Daylight" on Harry's House). Styles is teddy bears on your teenage bed, perfect handwriting on thank you cards, picked flowers on Sunday morning, puppies running on fresh-cut grass, Grandma's favorite homemade cake. At points, he is almost daffily nice, too attentive, as if held in the throes of a decade-long bout of imposter syndrome (he confirmed that he does, sometimes, expect that someone will tap him on the shoulder and say, "The jig is up. You're done now"). Surely a mask, you are thinking. No one that fancied can be that sweet. I asked Styles this myself: Is he actually pleasant, normal, sane? "My producer keeps asking me when I'm going to have my big breakdown," he said, laughing. "The most honest version I can think of is, I didn't grow up in poverty by any means, but we didn't have much money, and I had an expectation of what I could achieve in life. I feel like everything else has been a bonus, and I am so lucky."

That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control. "In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band," he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, "to get people to engage with you, to like you." He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren't on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he'd slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. "Why do I feel like I'm the one who has done something wrong?" he said to me, after we got up to shift spots in the park when a teenager started filming us for a prank video.

Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything. He thought about how, when good things happened—say, a No. 1 album—he wouldn't feel happy, just relieved. And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavory, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained.

Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said. The life of a boy band member is something of a Ken Doll existence—a smooth nothingness where sex should be. One must be flirtatious (swoon!) without ever being seen to have sex, let alone casual sex. One must project the intrigue of a bad boy without ever doing anything bad; you are an object, an image, onto which people project fantasies, not a person who actually does things, who gets messy. "At the time, there were still the kiss-and-tell things. Working out who I could trust was stressful," Styles said. "But I think I got to a place where I was like, why do I feel ashamed? I'm a 26-year-old man who's single; it's like, yes, I have sex."

Styles has come to fame at a complex time for the idolized. When he emerged, the UK was at the height of its tabloid culture, when celebrities were being hounded, exposed. That gave way to social media, where everyone expected to see everything, where anyone could publish snapshots, footage, gossip. "I think we're in a moment of reflection," Styles said. "You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written." He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said. "The whole point of where we should be heading, which is toward accepting everybody and being more open, is that it doesn't matter, and it's about not having to label everything, not having to clarify what boxes you're checking."

But Styles does not want to appear ungrateful or defensive, or even angry. All of this contemplation, this honesty, is not to say that he didn't love it, hasn't loved it all—because he has, he reminded me several times, "absolutely loved it." Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

By now, we were snug in a local café; all the other attendees appeared to be in their late seventies, and no one gave us a second glance. In about an hour from now, just after we've parted, Styles' album's existence will be announced to the world on Twitter. The cover, on which he stands alone in an upside-down room, will go on within mere hours to receive over a million likes. The first single on the album, "As It Was," begins with a clip of a voice note from one of his goddaughters asking him to say good night to her. It is, he said, about "metamorphosis." About when you look back on life, and on your past selves, and barely recognize them. About when you realize everything has transformed, irrevocably. About when you grow up, change, begin to move on.

"Finally, it doesn't feel like my life is over if this album isn't a commercial success," he said. "You've never felt that way before?" I asked. He said, "Honestly, I don't think I have." With his first album, he explained, he was terrified to make fun music, "because I'd come out of the band, and it was like, if I want to be taken seriously as a musician, then I can't make fun music." He called it "bowling with the bumpers up, playing it safe." While the second album was "freer," he became concerned with making "really big songs," an objective he now questions. Now his goals are, on the surface, smaller but, to him, far greater: "I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said. We hugged goodbye, and he set off through North London on foot—a sex symbol, a fashion darling, a very modern rock star, weaving his way back home.

[hldailyupdate]

Exclusive: Harry Styles Shares the Meaning Behind His New Album, 'Harry's House'

On his new album, Harry Styles explores themes of belonging, peace, and discovering domestic bliss wherever you can find it.

Looking back, it was undoubtedly risky suggesting to meet Harry Styles, the global music megastar, the apple of so many millions of eyes, at a public open-air swimming pool in London on an unusually sunny March morning—right when people were bouncing around the city with a vaguely manic, newly liberated energy, catalyzed by the total lift on COVID restrictions. But swimmers, particularly all-weather swimmers (the lido I chose is unheated and open year-round), take the meditative pleasure of swimming seriously, as Styles himself, who swims outdoors daily, knows well. "I feel like people who have discovered cold water swimming are just so happy for you that you've also found it," Styles said. In other words, no one is hassling you for water-side photos. Indeed, around us, most swimmers were doing an admirable job of feigning indifference to the fact that an instantly recognizable pinup (the hair, the face, the tattoos) was stripped off, poolside.

Styles has spent the last few years on a quest to enjoy things for what they are, to "be in the moment," as he put it. Swimming is good for this; it's hard to think about anything else when you are struggling to keep breathing. Just before the pandemic, in December 2019, Styles released his second solo album, Fine Line, to acclaim. The corresponding live shows, Love On Tour, were due to start in April 2020. But by then, the pandemic was raging; disaster declarations had been made across the U.S., and Europe was on lockdown. Styles had envisaged himself busy, playing packed shows each night, the music bellowing from his lungs, his pearls and sequins glittering in the light. Instead, nothing. "Suddenly, the screaming stopped," he said. Everything was canceled, an end to the relentless merry-go-round of attention Styles has been on since 2010—then a smiling 16-year-old in a skinny scarf that would hint at the kind of fey hip-wiggling rocker he would go on to become a decade later—when he appeared on the British talent show The X Factor and was set on a conveyer belt to stardom.

Now Styles was stuck in L.A. for months with nothing to do. "It was the first time I'd stopped since I left my mum's," he said. For a while, at the beginning of lockdown, productivity drilled into him, Styles felt like he should work, create. The ethos with One Direction (the boy band he was packaged into on The X Factor) was always more, next, bigger, better. It was "all about how do you keep it going and how do you get it to grow," he said. "There were so many years where, for me, especially in the band and the first few years coming out of it, I'd just been terrified of it ending, because I didn't necessarily know who I was if I didn't do music."

Styles came to see that COVID was out of his control, that he just had to ride it out. He bubbled with a group of friends and for about six weeks did "practically nothing." Didn't write any music. Didn't record. He was suddenly just another young guy in a house-share trying not to bug his roommates. Styles came to realize that his past schedule had facilitated avoidance. "Whether it was with friends or people I was dating, I was always gone before it got to the point of having to have any difficult conversations," he said. So he used lockdown to commit to being a better friend, son, brother. He pushed himself to confront things he hadn't brought up, had many long, honest chats. And like most people who found themselves suddenly very, very inside, he thought a lot about the idea of home—about belonging, peace, sanctuary. "I realized that that home feeling isn't something that you get from a house; it's more of an internal thing. You realize that when you stop for a minute," he said.

A few months later when he started recording in L.A., and later in Oxfordshire and London, he thought about what he was doing not as the creation of a new record but as an extension of that time kicking back with friends (he has a close-knit circle and was living with some of the same people he writes and plays with). "I've always made my worst, most generic work when I'm just desperate to get a single," he explained. So he tried to see what he was doing as open, speculative. That is, he has realized, his great skill as a musician; he's not naturally gifted at guitar or piano, not the most confident singer, can't read music, but he excels when it comes to bringing people together. He is at his best, he said, when he pulls away from what is formal or expected and does something playful, collaborative, instinctive, fun. While Fine Line is full of references to Styles' musical heroes (Joni Mitchell, David Bowie, Van Morrison), this time, when he started recording, he deliberately didn't listen to anything—except classical, music that cleansed him of sonic references—so he could start again with "a blank canvas."

He knew he had to commit to the reset, to the sense of a fresh start that was happening across his life. He is aware that this all sounds a bit pretentious, a bit airy-fairy, but then, who didn't get caught up in a rush of pandemic life-improvement epiphanies? "I think everyone went through a big moment of self-reflection, a lot of navel-gazing, and I don't know if there's anything more navel-gazing than making an album. It's so self-absorbed," he said.

Two years on, Styles and I are meeting because that album, titled Harry's House, is about to be announced to the world. The day before we meet, I listened to the album in a room at Sony's London headquarters under the watchful eye of a company executive. Only a handful of people knew then about its existence, and, overwhelmed by the pressure of secrecy, I briefly freaked out when I found myself audibly humming one of the songs on the train home. Harry's House is, as you can probably guess, about home. Not just home in the sense of a physical space—though there are plenty of references to kitchens and "sitting in the garden" and "maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two"—but also to home "in terms of a headspace or mental well-being," as Styles put it. "It sounds like the biggest, and the most fun, but it's by far the most intimate," he said of the album.

At this point, Styles and I were sitting with a coffee on a patch of grass outside the pool, and I had begun to realize that I had kept him in the cold water way, way too long. He was visibly shaking. "Two lengths was too much," he agreed. I think we were both trying to show off—me, nonchalance to a popular heartthrob, and him, hardiness to another committed cold water swimmer. I became worried I had incapacitated him, something that would get me into great trouble, as a member of his team reminded me by text later, as he was due to perform at Coachella in a few weeks. "If you killed me, it would make for a good story," Styles said, eager to see the sunny side. We set off in search of heat.

Almost anyone who meets Styles will tell you how polite, breezy he is. Few interviews go by without mentioning his charm. Indeed, it is hard not to describe his boyish enthusiasm in the same campy, knowing cheesiness that enlivens his songs ("strawberries on a summer evenin'" or the exquisitely saccharine, "If I was a bluebird, I would fly to you; you be the spoon, dip you in honey so I can be sticking to you," from "Daylight" on Harry's House). Styles is teddy bears on your teenage bed, perfect handwriting on thank you cards, picked flowers on Sunday morning, puppies running on fresh-cut grass, Grandma's favorite homemade cake. At points, he is almost daffily nice, too attentive, as if held in the throes of a decade-long bout of imposter syndrome (he confirmed that he does, sometimes, expect that someone will tap him on the shoulder and say, "The jig is up. You're done now"). Surely a mask, you are thinking. No one that fancied can be that sweet. I asked Styles this myself: Is he actually pleasant, normal, sane? "My producer keeps asking me when I'm going to have my big breakdown," he said, laughing. "The most honest version I can think of is, I didn't grow up in poverty by any means, but we didn't have much money, and I had an expectation of what I could achieve in life. I feel like everything else has been a bonus, and I am so lucky."

That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control. "In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band," he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, "to get people to engage with you, to like you." He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren't on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he'd slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. "Why do I feel like I'm the one who has done something wrong?" he said to me, after we got up to shift spots in the park when a teenager started filming us for a prank video.

Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything. He thought about how, when good things happened—say, a No. 1 album—he wouldn't feel happy, just relieved. And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavory, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained.

Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said. The life of a boy band member is something of a Ken Doll existence—a smooth nothingness where sex should be. One must be flirtatious (swoon!) without ever being seen to have sex, let alone casual sex. One must project the intrigue of a bad boy without ever doing anything bad; you are an object, an image, onto which people project fantasies, not a person who actually does things, who gets messy. "At the time, there were still the kiss-and-tell things. Working out who I could trust was stressful," Styles said. "But I think I got to a place where I was like, why do I feel ashamed? I'm a 26-year-old man who's single; it's like, yes, I have sex."

Styles has come to fame at a complex time for the idolized. When he emerged, the UK was at the height of its tabloid culture, when celebrities were being hounded, exposed. That gave way to social media, where everyone expected to see everything, where anyone could publish snapshots, footage, gossip. "I think we're in a moment of reflection," Styles said. "You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written." He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said. "The whole point of where we should be heading, which is toward accepting everybody and being more open, is that it doesn't matter, and it's about not having to label everything, not having to clarify what boxes you're checking."

But Styles does not want to appear ungrateful or defensive, or even angry. All of this contemplation, this honesty, is not to say that he didn't love it, hasn't loved it all—because he has, he reminded me several times, "absolutely loved it." Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

By now, we were snug in a local café; all the other attendees appeared to be in their late seventies, and no one gave us a second glance. In about an hour from now, just after we've parted, Styles' album's existence will be announced to the world on Twitter. The cover, on which he stands alone in an upside-down room, will go on within mere hours to receive over a million likes. The first single on the album, "As It Was," begins with a clip of a voice note from one of his goddaughters asking him to say good night to her. It is, he said, about "metamorphosis." About when you look back on life, and on your past selves, and barely recognize them. About when you realize everything has transformed, irrevocably. About when you grow up, change, begin to move on.

"Finally, it doesn't feel like my life is over if this album isn't a commercial success," he said. "You've never felt that way before?" I asked. He said, "Honestly, I don't think I have." With his first album, he explained, he was terrified to make fun music, "because I'd come out of the band, and it was like, if I want to be taken seriously as a musician, then I can't make fun music." He called it "bowling with the bumpers up, playing it safe." While the second album was "freer," he became concerned with making "really big songs," an objective he now questions. Now his goals are, on the surface, smaller but, to him, far greater: "I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said. We hugged goodbye, and he set off through North London on foot—a sex symbol, a fashion darling, a very modern rock star, weaving his way back home.

via Better Homes & Gardens. (26 April 2022)

[no-oneknowsmyname]

Summary: Ghostbur finds himself confronted with a train, and he decides to take it. He wakes up with hardly a memory to his name, laying injured and confused on the floor of one of the G-Train's shopping carts. Thankfully, Etho, on one of his many shopping escapades, is there to find him and get some Boatem people to help.

I happened upon this art and I couldn't stop thinking about the concept of Ghostbur ending up in Hermitcraft. I just had to get this written down. I might continue this, I'm not sure. I just really love the idea of Ghostbur ending up in S8 Hermitcraft smack in the middle of the hermits already dealing with big moons, earthquakes, and prank wars. Plus, Mr Soot's fanfictions on Reddit mean nothing to me, and this was my way of flipping him off. Stay away from my comfort character, Wilbur. I can and will write a fanfic about him having fun with my other comfort characters in a different server.

Also, slight warnings for angst, disassociation, depression, injury, blood, and such at the beginning of this. Ghostbur doesn't start off in a happy place, but it gets better.

---

-----

Ghostbur had forgotten to count how long he'd been here. It wasn't like there were days for him to count by; the station was always dark and shadowed, expanding endlessly in every direction. Not a single window to be seen. 

At first, he counted on the train. It came, he thought, at regular enough intervals. It wasn't very reliable, however, as saying he'd been sitting on the same bench for any number of times of the train passing by would mean nothing to everybody. 

There was a screen hanging on the ceiling, however, that had a timer. But he never looked at it, not after seeing it showed the things people said about him back home… not after seeing how few and far in-between and mean some of those things had become.

So he forgot to keep count. Forgot to care. His fingers hurt from scratching on the walls, and they hadn't ever seemed to heal along with the hole in his chest and the burns steaming on his cheeks down from his eyes. 

He missed his friends. He missed Tommy. Techno. Phil. Tubbo. Ranboo. Friend especially. But he had long accepted that none of them were coming for him. Ghostbur fucked up in that prison, trying to help Tommy with something that he didn't quite understand. At first, he tried to blame Tommy for this limbo, as he had promised he wouldn't get hurt… but deep down he knew he was the one to fail Tommy. They weren't coming for him because they preferred Wilbur. Wilbur didn't fuck up. Wilbur could do great things and be respected. Wilbur didn't forget or get attached to little, stupid things, or melt in the rain. 

Ghostbur was going to stay here forever. And he forgot to count how long he'd been here or forgot to care because it didn't matter. 

---

He sobbed. His brain was too loud again, thinking these depressing thoughts. He wished he could turn it off, or at least cry himself to sleep… but his brain got too loud. He hated this. He much preferred when he would disassociate from this, stare off into the corner and pretend that he didn't exist here. Get lost in daydreams about running in the snowfields with Friend. 

But right now wasn't the case. 

He was here. He was here and he'd always be here. 

No one missed him. No one cared. They only tolerated him, and it hurt more than the scars from his tears, the bleeding wounds on his fingertips and chest. More than anything. And he wanted to forget. He wanted to forget because at least it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Forget. He wanted to forget so badly, but the thought of forgetting hurt just as much too.

He was stuck.

That was his limbo. 

It wasn't the train station.

It was remembering.

He was curled up so tight he could feel his shattered ribs against his weak knees. Everything felt torturous, and he couldn't help but wonder when it would end. He couldn't be stuck like this forever. Eventually, the agony should turn into splinters… decaying and rotting and eventually becoming nothing just like his dearly departed desire to hold on to any semblance of hope. 

Maybe one day he'll become dust. Maybe, the last time someone says his name would be the last time he's forced to take a breath. 

He… cannot help but look forward to that day, if it ever would come. 

Unfortunately, that day never would come. What did arrive, however, was a train. Initially, it wasn't surprising. There had been many trains arriving and leaving just as quickly, never stopping and never slowing… windows dark and shadowed and wheels screeching against the tracks loud enough to make his ears burst. They're what brought him here, and they continue to pass by like a taunt. A pointed finger and a howling laugh at his misery and loneliness. 

But this train was different. 

The wheels didn't scream. That was what he noticed first. They hummed gently, like the train was well loved and well used. Nothing like those subway cars caked with rust and hopelessness. And when he looked up, shocked at the tenderness of the sound, he found himself staring dumbfounded at a train that wasn't a subway cart at all. 

It was a steam engine, billowing pure white clouds that smelled like fresh rain. He could feel his chest pounding as a whistle sounded, long and true, piercing his eardrums and forcing him to bring his blue stained sleeves to his ears. His eyes remained wide open, however, as the engine began to slow down… as if all of this wasn't baffling enough. He had no idea what to do or think as the train came to a complete stop, releasing a final fit of steam before going still. He could only sit there… and stare.

It was a lovely vehicle. Nothing like what Ghostbur had ever seen… especially trapped in here. Eventually, the pounding in his chest and ears calmed down, and when the train revealed itself to not be going anywhere… he worked up the courage to stand up.

He kept his eyes downcast from the screen above him, not wanting to think about them right now. He took curious steps towards the train, stopping close enough to make out  plated logos nailed into the metal surface. 

B.T.M.

G-TRAIN

He couldn't recall what that could stand for, and instead took a look further down the train where he could see wooden cart after wooden cart… some closed off and some open enough to reveal crates after more crates.

He could take the time to poke around those crates. Maybe he'd find some blue, or maybe some food, or maybe even a shovel… but something was calling for him at the engine. Something that felt safe. Safer than he had ever felt before. 

He arrived here in a train, it wasn't hard to assume that maybe he'd be able to leave on one too. 

It wasn't a difficult decision to climb aboard and make his way to the engine room. The second he sat down on a leather padded chair near the controls, the train came to life seemingly all on its own. The whistle sang and the floor jolted as the wheels began to move. He didn't look out the windows as the train moved forward, and he didn't allow himself to wonder what he truly was leaving.

He didn't know where he was going… but he had the feeling that anywhere he could go would be better than here. 

For the first time in many, many years… he felt alive. For the first time in sixteen years…

He laughed.

---

He woke up on hardwood floors, stuffed between a cold wall and unmoving, heavy purple boxes. He had no idea when he had transitioned from laughing on the engine to waking up here, but at least he can rest assured that it wasn't a sick dream. 

If it was a sick dream, he'd be waking up leaning against that bench, feeling cold and impossibly dead. Not… not to the feeling of sunlight and textured wood and the smell of wild grass. 

He still hurt, however. In fact… the more he woke up, the more he felt the pain grow. 

He gasped, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut… but it moved the gaping hole in his chest and he choked on a scream. He's been in pain for so long, but this felt more sharp than… than it ever had. And he knew, he knew he had other injuries other than that gaping wound, but they were too small for his brain to process. 

Tears leaked down his face. He could feel them sting. 

And he was so trapped in his sudden misery, wondering what he had done to deserve such torture after being granted fresh air and sunlight… that he didn't notice that someone else was in the cart with him. 

In fact, he didn't even realize someone was there until they were touching him. He shouted, weakly fighting the hold, but their grasp was persistent. 

"Oh shoot," a deep voice said, "you're hurt bad."

And Ghostbur wasn't an angry ghost. He'd hardly ever raised his voice unless he was scared. But the sheer audacity of that mysterious voice to tell him what he already knew made him want to scream every swear word he'd been taught right at their face. 

He knew lots of swear words. He was taught by none other than… than… what was… his name…?

"I don't have any health potions…" The voice said, sitting him against the wall of the cart. Ghostbur desperately tried to open his eyes and figure out who this person was, but it was like looking through a foggy sheet of ice. 

The sunlight brought more tears to his eyes, and all he could make out while gasping and sobbing against the wall of the cart was a tall figure leaning before him, their hands covered in blue. They wore a green vest… the bottom half of their face was obscured by something colored a deep navy… hair must be either a pure blonde or a white. 

One eye was dark. The other red.

"Snappers," the man whispered under his breath. "I- I'm gonna go see if the Boatem people have anything that can help."

And then the man was gone. 

Ghostbur forced himself to breathe, sucking in lungful after lungful of air and blinking tears from his eyes as the world came more and more into view. 

He had no idea where he was. Plains stretched far ahead of him, only interrupted by pathways and towering buildings in the distance. A couple houses… A factory… Something large and grey that suggested a mountain. 

He didn't have a chance to study anymore before blurry figures were running towards him from one of the buildings. 

One of them, he recognized the white hair of. But there were two others. One had a deep blue hoodie over long brown hair, and the other had a red jumper and shaggy, dirty blonde hair. 

The image of the second one struck some sort of familiarity within him, but he couldn't place it. 

"There really is someone?! You weren't lying?!" The smaller one shouted in surprise as they came up to Ghostbur. The exclamation went ignored as the white haired one and the hooded one came to a stop before him, already shoving a bottle filled with a bright magenta liquid.

"Why don't you drink this, hun," the hooded one said, her voice heavily accented and kind. "You'll be feelin' right better."

Ghostbur didn't have any reason to argue with her gentle instructions, especially as she promised that the pain would go away. With her hands cradling his own as he lifted the bottle to his lips, he heard the white haired one say her name. 

"You're a lifesaver, Pearl," he said, breathless. 

She chuckled. "I would hope so. I always have some of these stored away for when I need to rescue Mumbo for the thousandth time from a magma cube."

The liquid was cold and comforting, like fresh spring water flavored with hints of lime and strawberry. He was so enchanted with the taste, that he didn't realize how much better he was feeling until the bottle was gone. 

He looked down at his chest, shocked to find that while his yellow sweater was still stained blue with his blood… the pale skin underneath was sealed… leaving nothing but a pink, jagged scar. He looked down at his fingertips, no longer cut at the tips, and brought them to his cheeks where the scars still stung… but they weren't freshly wounded anymore. 

"Where did he come from?" Pearl asked.

"What is he?" The third, red-jumpered one chimed in. "He doesn't look… completely human…"

Ghostbur lowered his hands from his face and studied his rescuers with better detail, noting features he hadn't been able to see before through his teary eyes. 

The one who found him first did, in fact, have white hair; it was pulled up by a headband of some sort. His lower face was covered by a mask, and he wore a uniform that looked like it was made for stealth, along with a comfy looking pair of sandals. His eyes looked kind, if not a little permanently tired.

The one who handed him the potion, Pearl, who looked every bit as kind and nurturing as her voice suggested. There's an impish way to how she smiled at him, however, like she had a mischievous side she couldn't always resist and often embraced. 

And the last one, the one Ghostbur hadn't yet really had any direct contact with. For a minute, Ghostbur thought he was looking in the mirror. They had much the same hair, eyes, sweater… with only some color mismatching here and there. He wondered if that was where that flash of familiarity came from earlier… oh why was he so forgetful?

"What's your name?" Pearl asked. She pointed to herself, then to the white haired man, then to Ghostbur's look-alike. "I'm Pearl, this is Etho, and behind us is Grian."

Ghostbur swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I'm…" his voice scratched. He cleared it, and they waited patiently. "I'm, uh, Ghostbur! Where am I?"

"Ghostbur?" Grian questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

Ghostbur nodded, beginning to really enjoy these kind faces and no longer feeling like he was in agonizing pain. "Yes! It's like Wilbur, but I'm a ghost! Ghostbur! But don't call me Wilbur, I don't like that name very much, thank you. I like the color blue, and sheep, and bells, and-"

Pearl laughed, making Ghostbur realize he'd begun to ramble. 

"Um. Sorry, I'm a little airheaded sometimes. Can you tell me where I am? I can't seem to remember much."

"You're in Boatem," Grian answered, still standing back and looking at Ghostbur with a calculative look on his face. "On my G-Train. Where did you come from?"

Ghostbur hummed. "Uh. I'm not sure, I'm afraid. Last I remember I was… I was somewhere dark I think? And then there was a train. I got on it and woke up here! Boatem sounds like a nice place, and it seems I've already made some new friends. Thank you for helping the pain go away! I like blue, but not when it's coming from my own body."

Ghostbur laughed after his last sentence, but the others didn't share his laughter. Pearl looked suddenly concerned while Etho and Grian shared looks. Ghostbur swallowed nervously and made to stand up. That regained all of their attention.

"Thank you for helping me, again. You are all so nice, and I'm lucky to have met you. I should be on my way then, I'm sorry for bothering you all like this."

"Woah, woah, woah," Pearl said, reaching forward and grabbing his hand. 

She tugged it away like she touched fire when Ghostbur couldn't contain his flinch… his heart spiking. 

"I'm sorry," he said, as if on instinct. 

She shook her head, keeping a comfortable distance. "You don't need to apologize. We're happy to help, and we want to make sure you're okay. You shouldn't be going off on your own… especially if you don't know where you are."

"Oh, I won't be alone," Ghostbur replied, smiling. "I'll have Friend with me. He's a blue sheep, and he always respawns. We always find each other. I just gotta look for him."

"You'll need a place to stay while looking for him," Grian said, not sounding convinced at all. "Besides, it's almost night, and it's getting more and more... weird at night lately. You can stay at my starter base… and you'll probably have to meet X before you can go off on your own."

So many people to meet! That alone is what made Ghostbur slowly nod his head in agreement, making them promise that he'd still be able to look for Friend while waiting to meet this X person. 

While Pearl held out her hand again in an offer to take his own, he noticed Etho beginning to hang back, looking all mopey and silent. Pearl led him off the train cart onto the station's platform, and he turned to his first new friend here. "Will you be coming too?"

Etho blinked, then sheepishly stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Ah, no. I gotta head back to my place. It was nice meeting you, but, uh, I uh, better head back before Iskall starts worrying 'bout me."

Iskall. Another new name. Perhaps another new friend. 

"Thanks for finding us, Etho," Grian says, jumping off the train cart and turning to wave at the man. It was then Ghostbur noticed the wings on his back. He'd only ever seen one other person with wings before, though he cannot recall the name or face. He had thought winged people were rare, but here one was, with wings shaped like a bat's, large and leathery and shimmering like a twilight sky. Colorful scales that almost looked like parrot feathers rested near his shoulder blades. They're the most beautiful things Ghostbur's seen so far in this new place.  "And thank you for your business at the G-Train!"

Etho waved them goodbye, his mismatched eyes lingering on Ghostbur for a second longer than the others. Then, before Ghostbur knew it, he was being led hand-in-hand with Pearl towards a cute house with gray stone walls and a dark tiled roof. Lush, green grass and moss lined the lawn. It looked cozy and warm… until they opened the front doors to reveal it baren and open. Green glass separated some strange looking contraptions to the right, and to the left was a green glass floor that roofed a large room that he couldn't see into from this angle yet. 

"It's not much," Grian said, walking ahead of them towards a closet under a flight of stairs and dragging out a small bed. "But it'll give you some privacy. I don't live here anymore."

"It's… not very complete in here is it?"

Grian laughed. "Like I said, it's not much."

"If you want, you can come with me to my place," Pearl offered, but Ghostbur shook his head. 

He felt like he's had a strange day, so far. His brain was still muddled thanks to his own forgetfulness and calming down from waking up confused and in pain. He really wasn't sure what he could be doing right now besides staying here and trying to remember anything useful. He had to have come from somewhere… somewhere with other friends who probably miss him. Somewhere with a nice home out in the snowy forests, far far away from anything that wanted to hurt him with his- his someones. Someones who were special to him. Somehow. He knew it. 

He just needed to remember. 

He bid Grian and Pearl goodnight, promising not to leave the house during the night. They left with a strange warning to not be too panicked if he looked out of the window and the moon was big, and to not go outside because apparently there was a hole that went down to the void under the world that he could accidentally fall into… and to not panic if the ground shook "it was probably okay maybe". 

These people were all weird, and it left a smile on his face as he dragged the old bed Grian got out of the closet back towards the east window, looking back at the G-Train and the large, green mountains behind it. 

He sat on the bed, watching the huge moon rise. Moons weren't usually that big, he was pretty sure of that. It looked almost as if it was going to fall right towards them.

But Grian and Pearl didn't seem panicked when they told him about it. He got the feeling that they're used to strange. 

He laid down on the bed, his eyes feeling heavy and tired, which felt like a new thing to him. His past was a fog to him, but he was still sure that feeling tired was new for him. Along with feeling pain like he had earlier. Along with the beating in his chest as he pressed his hand over his heart. 

Weird things around here, huh?

Ghostbur realized he might just be the newest weird thing for these people. 

He laughed to himself, his eyes slipping shut and drowsiness settling in his bones. 

Tomorrow would certainly be a weird day. He was counting on it.

[oscopelabs]

Isn’t Everything Autobiographical?: Ethan Hawke In Nine Films And A Novel by Marya Gates

When asked during his first ever on-camera interview if he’d like to continue acting, a young Ethan Hawke replied, “I don’t know if it’s going to be there, but I’d like to do it.” He then gives a guileless shrug of relief as the interview ends, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. The simultaneous fusion of his nervous energy and poised body language will be familiar to those who’ve seen later interviews with the actor. The practicality and wisdom he exudes at such a young age would prove to be a through-line of his nearly 40-year career. In an interview many decades later, he told Ideas Tap that many children get into acting because they’re seeking attention, but those who find their calling in the craft discover that a “desire to communicate and to share and to be a part of something bigger than yourself takes over, a certain craftsmanship—and that will bring you a lot of pleasure.”

Through Hawke’s dedication to his craft, we’ve also seen his maturation as a person unfold on screen. Though none of his roles are traditionally what we think of when we think of autobiography, many of Hawke’s roles, as well as his work as a writer, suggest a sort of fictional autobiographical lineage. While these highlights in his career are not strictly autofiction, one can trace Hawke’s Künstlerromanesque trajectory from his childhood ambitions to his life now as a man dedicated to art, not greatness. 

Hawke’s first two films, Joe Dante’s sci-fi fantasy Explorers with River Phoenix and Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society with Robin Williams, set the tone for a diverse filmography filled with popcorn fare and indie cinema in equal measure, but they also served as touchstones in his development as person drawn to self-expression through art. In an interview with Rolling Stone’s David Fear, Hawke spoke about the impact of these two films on him as an actor. When River Phoenix, his friend and co-star in Explorers, had his life cut short by a drug overdose, it hit Hawke personally. He saw from the inside what Hollywood was capable of doing to young people with talent. Hawke never attempted to break out, to become a star. He did the work he loved and kept the wild Hollywood lifestyle mostly at arm’s length. 

Like any good film of this genre, Dead Poets Society is not just a film about characters coming of age, but a film that guides the viewer as well, if they are open to its message. Hawke’s performance as repressed schoolboy Todd in the film is mostly internal, all reactions and penetrating glances, rather than grandiose movements or speeches. Through his nervy body language and searching gaze, you can feel both how closed off to the world Todd is, and yet how willing he is to let change in. Hawke has said working on this film taught him that art has a real power, that it can affect people deeply. This ethos permeates many of the characters Hawke has inhabited in his career. 

In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) tells the boys that we read and write poetry because the human race is full of passion. He insists, “poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.” Hawke gave a 2020 TEDTalk entitled Give Yourself Permission To Be Creative, in which he explored what it means to be creative, pushing viewers to ask themselves if they think human creativity matters. In response to his own question, he said “Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of the sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life and ‘has anyone ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse, something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can’t even see straight, you know, you’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art is not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.” 

Throughout many of his roles post-Dead Poets Society, Hawke explores the nature of creativity through his embodiment of writers and musicians. Often these characters are searching for a greater purpose through art, while ultimately finding that human connection is the key. Without that human connection, their art is nothing.

We see the first germ of this attraction to portray creative people on screen with his performance as Troy Dyer in Reality Bites. As Troy Dyer, a philosophy-spouting college dropout turned grunge-band frontman in Reality Bites, Hawke was posited as a Gen-X hero. His inability to keep a job and his musician lifestyle were held in stark contrast to Ben Stiller’s yuppie TV exec Michael Grates. However in true slacker spirit, he isn’t actually committed to the art of music, often missing rehearsals, as Lelaina points out. Troy even uses his music at one point to humiliate Lelaina, dedicating a rendition of “Add It Up” by Violent Femmes to her. The lyrics add insult to injury as earlier that day he snuck out of her room after the two had sex for the first time. Troy’s lack of commitment to his music matches his inability to commit to those relationships in his life that mean the most to him. 

Reality Bites is also where he first positioned himself as one of the great orators of modern cinema.” Take this early monologue, in which he outlines his beliefs to Winona Ryder’s would-be documentarian Lelaina Pierce: “There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.” 

Hawke brings the same intense gaze to this performance as he did to Dead Poets Society, as if his eyes could swallow the world whole. But where Todd’s body language was walled-off, Troy’s is loud and boisterous. He’s quick to see the faults of those around him, but also the good things the world has to offer. It’s a pretty honest depiction of how self-centered your early-20s tend to be, where riding your own melt seems like the best option. As the film progresses, Troy lets others in, saying to Lelaina, “This is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You, me and five bucks.”

Like the character, Hawke was in his early twenties and as he would continue to philosophize through other characters, they would age along with him and so would their takes on the world. If you only engage with anyone at one phase in their life, you do a disservice to the arc of human existence. We have the ability to grow and change as we learn who we are and become less self-centered. In Hawke’s career, there’s no better example of this than his multi-film turn as Jesse in the Before Trilogy. While the creation of Jesse and Celine are credited to writer-director Richard Linklater and his writing partner Kim Krizan, much of what made it to the screen even as early as the first film were filtered through the life experiences of Hawke and his co-star Julie Delpy. 

In a Q&A with Jess Walter promoting his most recent novel A Bright Ray of Darkness, Hawke said that Jesse from the Before Trilogy is like an alt-universe version of himself, and through them we can see the self-awareness and curiosity present in the early ET interview grow into the the kind of man Keating from Dead Poets Society urged his students to become. 

In Before Sunrise, Hawke’s Jesse is roughly the same age as Troy in Reality Bites, and as such is still in a narcissistic phase of his life. After spending several romantic hours with Celine in Vienna, the two share their thoughts about relationships. Celine says she wants to be her own person, but that she also desperately wants to love and be loved. Jesse shares this monologue, “Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly, like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because. . . I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself, I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something. That I had excelled in some way than that I’d just been in a nice, caring relationship.”

The film ends without the audience knowing if Jesse and Celine ever see each other again. That initial shock is unfortunately now not quite as impactful if you are aware of the sequels. But I think it is an astute look at two people who meet when they are still discovering who they are. Still growing. Jesse, at least, is definitely not ready for any kind of commitment. Then of course, we find out in Before Sunset that he’s fumbled his way into marriage and fatherhood, and while he’s excelling at the latter, he’s failing at the former. 

As in Reality Bites, Hawke explores the dynamics of band life again in Before Sunset, when Jesse recalls to Celine how he was in a band, but they were too obsessed with getting a deal to truly enjoy the process of making music. He says to her, “You know, it's all we talked about, it was all we thought about, getting bigger shows, and everything was just...focused on the future, all the time. And now, the band doesn't even exist anymore, right? And looking back at the... at the shows we did play, even rehearsing... You know, it was just so much fun! Now I'd be able to enjoy every minute of it.”

The filming of Before Sunset happened to coincide with the dissolution of Hawke’s first marriage. And while these films are not autobiographical, everyone involved have stated that they’ve added personal elements to their characters. They even poke fun at it in the opening scene when a journalist asks how autobiographical Jesse’s novel is. True to form, he responds with a monologue, “Well, I mean, isn’t everything autobiographical? I mean, we all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know. Have you ever seen that little one page note to reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel, right? You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of all the moments of our lives, and that, anybody who sits down to write is gonna use the clay of their own life, that you can’t avoid that.”

While Before Sunset was shot in 2003, released in 2004 and this monologue refers to the fictional book within the trilogy entitled This Time, Hawke would take this same approach more than a decade later with his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness.

In the novel, Hawke crafts a quasi-autobiographical story, using his experience in theater to work through the perspective he now has on his failed marriage to Uma Thurman. Much like Jesse in Before Sunset, Hawke is reluctant to call the book autobiographical, but the parallels to his own divorce are evident. And as Jesse paraphrased Wolfe, isn’t everything we do autobiographical? In the book, movie star William Harding has blown up his seemingly picture-perfect marriage with a pop star by having an affair while filming on location in South Africa. The book, structured in scenes and acts like a play, follows the aftermath as he navigates his impending divorce, his relationship with his small children, and his performance as Hotspur in a production of Henry IV on Broadway. 

Throughout much of the novel, William looks back at the mistakes he made that led to the breakup of his marriage. He’s now in his 30s and has the clarity to see how selfish he was in his 20s. Hawke, however, was in his forties while writing the book. Through the layers of hindsight, you can feel how Hawke has processed not just the painful emotional growth spurt of his 20s, but also the way he can now mine the wisdom that comes from true reflection. Still, as steeped as the novel is in self-reflection, it does not claim to have all the answers. In fact, it offers William, as well as the readers, more questions to contemplate than it does answers.

The wisdom to know that you will never quite understand everything is broached by Hawke early in the third film in the Before Trilogy, 2013’s Before Midnight. At this point in their love story, Jesse’s marriage has ended and he and Celine are parents to twin girls. Jesse has released two more books: That Time, which recounts the events of the previous film, and Temporary Cast Members of a Long-Running But Little Seen Production of a Play Called Fleeting. Before Midnight breaks the bewitching spell of the first two films by adding more cast members and showing the friction that comes with an attempt to grow old with someone. When discussing his three books, a young man says the title of his third is too long, Jesse says it wasn’t as well loved, and an older professor friend says it’s his best book because it’s more ambitious. It seems Linklater and company already knew how the departure of this third film might be regarded by fans. But it is this very departure that shows their commitment to honestly showing the passage of time and our relationship to it. 

About halfway through the film Jesse and Celine depart the Greek villa where they have been spending the summer, and we finally get a one-on-one conversation like we’re used to with these films. In one exchange, I feel they summarize the point of the entire trilogy, and possibly Hawke’s entire ethos: 

Jesse: Every year, I just seem to get a little bit more humbled and more overwhelmed about all the things I’m never going to know or understand. 

Celine: That’s what I keep telling you. You know nothing!

Jesse: I know, I know! I'm coming around! 

[Celine and Jesse laugh.] 

Celine: But not knowing is not so bad. I mean, the point is to be looking, searching. To stay hungry, right?

Throughout the series, Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke explore what they call the “transient nature of everything.” Jesse says his books are less about time and more about perception. It’s the rare person who can assess themselves or the world around them acutely in the present. For most of us, it takes time and self-reflection to come to any sort of understanding about our own nature. Before Midnight asks us to look back at the first two films with honesty, to remove the romantic lens with which they first appeared to us. It asks us to reevaluate what romance even truly is. 

Hawke explores this same concept again in the 2018 romantic comedy Juliet, Naked. In this adaptation of the 2009 Nick Hornby novel, Hawke plays a washed-up singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. He had a big hit album, Juliet, in the early ‘90s and then disappeared into obscurity. Rose Bryne plays a woman named Annie whose longtime boyfriend Duncan is obsessed with the singer and the album, stuck on the way the bummer songs about a bad breakup make him feel. As the film begins, Annie reveals that she thinks she’s wasted 15 years of her life with this schmuck. This being a rom-com, we know that Hawke and Byrne’s characters will eventually meet-cute. What’s so revelatory about the film is its raw depiction of how hard it is for many to reassess who they really are later in life. 

Duncan is stuck as the self-obsessed, self-pitying person he likely was when Annie first met him, but she reveals he was so unlike anyone else in her remote town that she looked the other way for far too long. Now it’s almost too late. By chance, she connects with Crowe and finds a different kind of man.

See, when Crowe wrote Juliet, he also was a navel-gazing twentysomething whose emotional development had not yet reached the point of being able to see both sides in a romantic entanglement. He worked through his heartbreak through art, and though it spoke to other people, he didn’t think about the woman or her feelings on the subject. In a way, Crowe’s music sounds a bit like what Reality Bites’s Troy Dyer may have written, if he ever had the drive to actually work at his music. Eventually, it’s revealed that Crowe walked away from it all when Julie, the woman who broke his heart, confronted him with their child—something he was well aware of, but from which he had been running away. Faced with the harsh reality of his actions and the ramifications they had on the world beyond his own feelings, he ran even farther away from responsibility. In telling the story to Annie, he says, “I couldn’t play any of those songs anymore, you know? After that, I just... I couldn’t play these insipid, self-pitying songs about Julie breaking my heart. You know, they were a joke. And before I know it, a couple of decades have gone by and some doctor hands me... hands me Jackson. I hold him, you know, and I look at him. And I know that this boy. . . is my last chance.”

When we first meet Crowe, he’s now dedicated his life to raising his youngest son, having at this point messed up with four previous children. The many facets of parenthood is something that shows up in Hawke’s later body of work many times, in projects as wholly different as Brooklyn’s Finest, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Maggie’s Plan, First Reformed, and even his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness. In each of these projects, decisions made by Hawke’s characters have a big impact on their children’s lives. These films explore the financial pressures of parenthood, the quirks of blended families, the impact of absent fathers, and even the tragedy of a father’s wishes acquiesced without question. Hawke’s take on parenthood is that of flawed men always striving to overcome the worst of themselves for the betterment of the next generation, often with mixed results. 

Where Juliet, Naked showed a potential arc of redemption for a father gone astray, First Reformed paints a bleaker portrait. Hawke plays Pastor Toller, a man of the cloth struggling with his own faith who attempts to counsel an environmental activist whose impending fatherhood has driven him to suicidal despair. Toller himself is struggling under the weight of fatherhood, believing he sent his own son to die a needless death in a morally bankrupt war. Sharing the story, he says “My father taught at VMI. I encouraged my son to enlist. It was the family tradition. Like his father, his grandfather. Patriotic tradition. My wife was very opposed. But he enlisted against her wishes. . . .  Six months later he was killed in Iraq. There was no moral justification for this conflict. My wife could not live with me after that. Who could blame her? I left the military. Reverend Jeffers at Abundant Life Church heard about my situation. They offered me a position at First Reformed. And here I am.” How do we carry the weight of actions that affect lives that are not even our own? 

If Peter Weir set the father figure template in Dead Poets Society, and Paul Schrader explored the consequences of direct parental influence on their children’s lives, director Richard Linklater subverts the idea of a mentor-guide in Boyhood, showing both parents are as lost as the kid himself. When young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) asks his dad (Hawke) what’s the point of everything, his reply is “I sure as shit don’t know. Nobody does. We’re all just winging it.” As the film ends, Mason sits atop a mountain with a new friend he’s made in the dorms discussing time. She says that everyone is always talking about seize the moment—carpe diem!—but she thinks it’s the other way around. That the moments seize us. In Reality Bites, Troy gets annoyed at Lelaina’s constant need to “memorex” everything with her camcorder, yet Boyhood is a film about capturing a life over a 12-year period. The Before Trilogy checks in on Jesse and Celine every nine years. Hawke’s entire career. in fact, has captured his growth from an awkward teen to a prolific artist and devoted father, a master of his craft and philosopher at heart. 

[redorich]

It stays in the pit

TW: sparring, weapons, cuts, fighting, hallucinations, minor mention of blood, angst

Hey it’s Split again! Follow me maybe? @split-em I have a lot more oneshots like these coming!

I like attention so maybe drop a like if you enjoy this! It’s about Hermit!Tommy sparring False,, but with a twist!!

This actually has so many words my fingers hurt aaaaaaaaa

Hey uh idk how to do a read more,, maybe if you want you can do that again pleasey? Also I love your hermit Tommy stuff keep up the great work!

(redorich here, thank you for the food lol)

‘It stays in the pit.’

Simple words that mean oh, so much.

When you’re reminded of the horrible memories that come with those words WHILE fighting, they mean so much more.

.

The newest build on hermitcraft is an underground, boxing ring style pit. There are stairs leading into a giant room below ground level with audience benches, a storage room with every different kind of weapon and armour, and a boxing ring in the middle.

When False offered to spar Tommy, she suggested they could do it in the new build that had not yet had its first official match. What made it even better, was that this would be Tommy’s first actual match against False since he first came to the server. She has been training him for months, improving his fighting techniques and strategies. You could say he went under her wing, and now he was ready to spread his own. This was a ‘student duels master’ fight, and the hermits wanted to witness it. They wanted to see how much Tommy had improved.

Though they over exaggerated juuuust slightly, because that sparring suggestion turned into a three (3) round mini tournament, and every single hermit wanted to watch.

Annoyingly bright lights shine down on the otherwise dark, amazingly massive room. The adrenaline in the air is intoxicating; downright addicting. Voices yell loudly, people scream and shout while waving, cameras are out, and Iskall is taking bets by the entrance.

Tommy and False stand across from each other, a confident smirk on each of their faces. The handle of an iron sword is gripped tightly in their hands, and the hermits watching are on the edge of their seats already. Tension mixed with excitement crashes down in waves. It chokes Tommy, but also sends his blood pressure through the roof. He feels like his head is underwater, but he’s walking on clouds. Never in his life has he been so excited yet so scared.

But god, does he want to win.

He exhaled, practically bouncing back and fourth as he waited for the countdown. False’s stare made him break into a cold sweat, but he composed himself. ‘This wouldn’t have been such a big deal if we were alone,’ he thought ‘but this is way more exciting than just fighting on the ground.’

That’s when he heard it.

Tommy looked up. The mayor, Scar, sat higher than any hermit in a chair on a ledge like you’d find in those old time-y theatres. His smile was proud, and he arched with peaked interest. “Holy shit,” Tommy breathed out, glancing back to his opponent “the mayor..”

B-Dub’s voice could be heard shouting with glee. He clearly was just as pumped as the rest of the audience, and you could head the smile in his voice as he counted down through a megaphone.

“Remember, no hard feelings. This is for fun!”

The fighter’s eyes met. False gave him a nod, Tommy looked down at his sword.

“WE ALL GOOD?!”

Tommy was shaking, out of fear or adrenaline he couldn’t tell.

“READY!”

False took in the younger boy, all she could think of was how proud of him she was. Look how far he had came. He went from this quiet and kept to himself boy, to an amazing friend that was full of energy.

“STEADY!”

Impulse looked quite concerned. He didn’t think it would become this big of deal, the sparring offer. But here he sat, chewing on his nails, waiting for what would happen. The rate the energy here made his heart rate increase was higher than any amount of sports drink or red bull could ever manage.

“SET!”

Tommy laughed. He needed to release everything. So he laughed, and felt all his stress melt away. Right now, fight. Right now, focus. Fight like she taught you.

“GO!”

Instantly, the teenager made the first move. No hesitation and certainly no mercy was shown as he swung his sword quick as lightning. It collided with the wood of False’s shield and he was thrown back slightly. False used this to her advantage and advanced on him, slicing horizontally with a small shake of her head.

“FALSE!! GO FALSE!!”

“TOMMY, DODGE!”

Tommy ducked, barely missing the sharp blade, and decided to fake. He stepped forward, jerking the sword forward and waited for False’s shield to come down from it’s position in front of her face before the cold metal cut her shoulder. His next swing was parried, and False managed to make him stumble to the ground as their blades touched and they both pushed with all their might. Cheers rang out, but both fighters knew it wasn’t over.

“WHAT THE-“

“YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING!”

“COME ON KID, LETS GO!”

He saw her raise her sword in the corner of his eye, and in an instant he rolled to the left. Successfully dodging the attack, Tommy quickly put an arrow in a crossbow and hit her..in the wrong arm. “Shit” he hissed. What would Technoblade think of that stupid mistake? False used the pause to take him by surprise and use her other arm to slash him in the thigh with her newly equipped iron axe.

“GET UP, GET UP!”

“COME ON DUDE, GET UP”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t stand. The boy raised one hand, and False stepped away with a smile. If this was anyone else, Tommy would’ve gotten angry. He would’ve cursed them out or spat on their shoe. But this was False, and he knew that smile was one of genuine happiness.

“THE WINNER OF ROUND ONE (1) IS FALSE!”

Screeches and ‘awws’ were muffled in Tommy’s ears by the sound of his heart. He panted, before a dopey grin found it’s way to his face. False helped the other stand, and Cleo was quick to administer healing potions to both of them. “Never let your guard down.” False advised. He could tell she wasn’t mad, but rather in the mood for a quick lesson.

Once the hermit’s noise had died down and the fighters were back in their corners, all healed to full health and full saturation, round two (2) began.

“READY!”

“I’m gonna beat ya, bitch” he swore in his now usual Tommy fashion. False shook her head and couldn’t bite back the chuckle that escaped her

“STEADY!”

“Stop swearing. And, in your dreams.”

“SET!”

“Lets turn this up then, yeah?”

“GO!”

It was different now, they both turned up the heat. They couldn’t help it, it was so much fun to spar and the hermits’ energy only made them feel better and more excited.

Tommy was first again, sprinting towards the older then jumping high with arms gripping an axe above his head. False held her shield up and ran, blocking his attack.

“OH MY GOD!”

“THIS IS NOTHING LIKE LAST TIME”

He slid back with a smirk and their blades collided again. False started running. Tommy loaded a crossbow and advanced, quickly dashing behind her and shooting her back. False hit the ground hard, but held up as she kicked forward and got back on her feet.

“YES! GO FALSE!”

“COME ON TOMMY, DONT TAKE THAT”

“TAKE HER DOWN!”

They ran together, Tommy swung, she dodged, she swung, he jumped out of the way. False blocked an incoming sword swing, but was shocked when she was jerked forward after a fish hook implanted itself in her shirt.

“WHAT??”

“WAIT WHAT”

He cried out, laughing the loudest he had in a long time, as he pulled False towards him with a fishing rod. He pinned her to the ground with his sword pointed to her neck. His grin spanned ear to ear.

“TOMMY!!! WOO LETS GOO!”

“THAT WAS AMAZING HOLY SHIT”

An uproar was heard, people were standing up and others stared in amazement. They totally forgot that was allowed, it seemed. False didn’t really think to use the fishing rod, she didn’t think Tommy would bother to either. But, Etho insisted on it anyway just in case. Same with the crossbow.

False raised a hand, accepting defeat. Tommy helped her up this time, his sweaty palm and bony fingers holding her hand that had knuckles white from her death grip on her sword. Impulse helped Cleo to pass them towels. The break started, and the two returned to their corners once again.

“TOMMY WINS ROUND 2 (2)!”

Tommy popped the cap off his water bottle and chugged it, gasping for breath. He had no idea how tired he was until now. His bones ached and his body screamed to stop, but he payed it no mind once again. He used the towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Cleo rubbed a healing potion onto his wounds. “You’re doing amazing, that fishing rod trick was awesome.”

“Thanks, Dream taught me it after I saw him use it in a manhunt.”

He stood back up, babbling on about how ‘all the women are going to be cheering me on when I win.’ False rolled her eyes “focus, Tommy. Women can wait.”

“WOMEN ARE IMPORTANT. I WOULD KNOW, IM A LESBIAN. WAIT, NO-“

“FINAL ROUND!!! THIS IS THE FINAL ROUND!”

Grian and Mumbo sat next to one another, the smaller of the two standing up with his hands on the rail in front of him as he cheered. He wanted to cheer for both, but he supposed for the sake of competition he had to pick a side, and decided he would support his newest friend Tommy. “LETS GOO! COME ON,, WOO!! GO TOMMY!!”

“READY!!”

“Tommy, I want you to know, no hard feelings, okay?” False looked at him. It wasn’t with pity, but friendship. Tommy nodded. “No matter what happens, it stays here.”

“STEADY!!!”

“It stays in the pit.” The moustached man mumbled, arms crossed and watching the two with peaked interest.

“What?” Grian questioned, sending a puzzled glance to the other hermit.

“It stays in the pit. Techno said it to me as a joke, he said it was something his friends said when he and Tommy duelled.” He explained, not taking his eyes off the boxing ring in the centre of the practically stadium-sized room.

“Oh..” Grian thought for a moment, before a smile formed on his face once again.

“SET!!!”

“IT STAYS IN THE PIT, TOMMY!!” He cheered, putting his fist in the air. He tried his hardest to make his voice heard, despite sitting a little ways away.

“What?” Tommy’s voice was small, and his eyes widened. His whole being stood still. Who was that? They didn’t..they didn’t just say..?

“IT STAYS IN THE PIT!!”

His eyes darted around the room, and suddenly the underground room seemed a lot smaller.

Tommy had never considered it a ‘pit.’ To him, it was a just a boxing ring that was below ground level slightly. It had no significance. He didn’t care what it was, he was just happy to have somewhere to fight.

But after hearing that, suddenly he was back in that dammed pit with his damned brother and his damned friends watching him

But after hearing that, suddenly False was no longer across from him

It was Technoblade

“GO GO GO!!!”

His iron sword dropped to the ground. “You killed Tubbo.” A look False had never seen before came across Tommy, and she didn’t know what to think. This wasn’t right.

All he could feel was pure rage. It fuelled his actions. The teen basically flew towards False at full speed. “What-“

“YOU KILLED TUBBO!” She was cut off as Tommy pinned her to the floor, “Tommy stop-“

“SHUT UP!” He spat violently, seeing nothing but red. His skinny hands clenched into fists as he threw punch after punch into her face.

“TOMMY!”

“HEY WHAT THE FUCK, GET HIM OFF”

“GET HIM OUT OF THE RING!” Scar ordered, his voice booming out over the crowds shocked gasps

“YOU BETRAYED POGTOPIA” He shouted, his voice loud and rough. This wasn’t Tommy. His eyes were cold and piercing, his face was flushed “YOU CALLED SCHLATT PRESIDENT, YOU SICK FUCK. YOU BETRAYED US!!” Big, salty tears ran down his cheeks as False’s wrists that attempted to block the punches were twisted. She screeched out in pain.

“ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!” Tommy knuckles bled, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop. All he ever wanted that day was to kill Technoblade. Techno had killed his best friend, and betrayed his own family. He deserved to die. “YOU BETRAYED ME AND WILBUR. I WANT TO KILL YOU!!”

Tommy’s arms were restrained by Etho and Doc. “LET ME GO, LET ME GO!” He trashed and kicked, blinded by anger and hurt. They exchanged horrified glances, and tried to calm him down. Nothing worked.

False was crying. Her eyes were already swelling up and she was just in the purest form of pain. Some hermits comforted her, while others dragged Tommy out of the ring and away from whatever the fuck just happened.

“TOMMY WHAT THE FUCK” he was screamed at by a couple people, while being shaken by the ones that could tell this wasn’t what it seemed.

“Stop it! Stop you’re making it worse! Let me through” Impulse pushed his way through the crowd, eyes widening as he saw the young boy snarling and pulling to get out of the two men’s grips. Tommy looked feral. “Stop crowding him!”

He knelt down and gently shook the other.

“Tommy, you’re in Hermitcraft. Okay? Grian’s here, Impulse is here, False is here. Technoblade is gone. Tubbo is okay. You’re safe, you’re in Hermitcraft.” He sighed with relief as Tommy came to, the anger in his eyes being replaced with tiredness and confusion.

“Wha..” Tommy went to grab his head, only to find his arms restrained. He panicked, “NO DREAM IM SORRY-“

“Calm down! Tommy you’re safe, you are restrained by Doc and Etho right now, okay? You tried to kill False.” Impulse explained

“I what?!” Tommy gasped, still trying to wiggle his way out. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why would he ever want to kill False?! Last thing he could remember is that he was sparring, then someone shouted something about..

“..the pit.” His voice went quiet. Impulse nodded in understanding. “Technoblade”

“..yeah.” Tommy thought about what happened. He thought False was his brother. He..he tried to hurt False.

.

Back in the audience, Grian sat completely still, staring in shock. Mumbo had a hand clamped over his mouth. The smaller looked to his friend, scared. “Mumbo, Did..did Techno tell you why he duelled Tommy?” He shook his head

“No..but he said Tommy wasn’t happy Techno won. I thought he meant the dude was a sore loser..”

Grian and Tommy exhale in sync, their hearts beating fast and hard, trying to process everything.

“What the fuck did I just do”

—————

This has like,, 2 700 words kill meeee

Well I hope you enjoyed that, I accidentally hyperfixated on the idea of Tommy getting pit flashbacks after reading an ask about it so now it’s 3AM! I got this done in 2 hours!

Should I upload these to Ao3??? Let me know!

[frombeyondtheblackhole]

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 4

... Skeppies- not in his house... he was in his mansion. Now he is in a mine. That’s not normal, or shouldn't be normal. Who knows what’s normal really. “I reject normal,” He muttered to himself before turning and yelling down the mineshaft “Baaaaaad... Very funny Bad!” He started back down the mine shaft, Bad had to be hiding around a corner up here somewhere. “How did you do it?... Bad?” No response “Bad! Stop hiding already, I know you’re there.” 

Wait, what was this. Skeppy stopped and squinted at the mineshaft walls. He’s a literal diamond, Skeppy knows a thing or two about rocks, and this was a rock he had never seen before. The whole wall was made up of large patches of this dark scaly stone. He knocked his knuckles against it, his diamond skin barely scratching it. “What the hell?” He said and was disappointed when Bad didn't interrupt with his typical ‘language.’ This gave him an idea. He cursed louder. Still silence. Skeppy frowned. Maybe Bad really wasn’t there. 

“Well, I'm leaving now. Last chance.” Still nothing. There was a sinking feeling in Skeppy’s chest. Bad wasn’t there. If this wasn’t a prank then what was this. Skeppy hurried down the mineshaft wasting no time in finding the ladder and climbing out into the sunlight. He exited the little house at the top only glancing back down the mine shaft once through the glass floor. He came out on the edge of a bay, mountains and trees behind him. There was some dirt scaffolding laid out in a massive square across the water, and a nether portal and some chests could be seen on a tiny island in the distance.  

He blinked at it for a minute and then Skeppy did what he always did when he didn’t know what to do. He started yelling.

“Hey yooo! Anyone, there!? Anyone out there?! Hellooooo, I’m talking to you!?” His voice echoed back to him and the water lapped softly against the beach. Skeppy scowled “Well, if you don’t want to be friendly then I’ll just leave. How about that? You hear me? I’m leaving, never returning. Not coming back.” He shouted for the benefit of any hypothetical hiding onlookers as he marched into the forest and started climbing the hill. 

The forest quickly thinned and the hill became more of a cliff, and soon he was climbing over rocky boulders and through flat patches of blue-green grass with the occasional grazing sheep. He came over the next hill and stopped short. The mountain dropped off in front of him and in the plain below looked to be some kind of a village. He squinted; a collective of houses built around what looked to be some kind of pole. 

He heard a bleating sound behind him and turned just as something white with horns rammed into him, knocking him off the cliff and sending him tumbling down the rocky slope, head over heels, till he slid to a stop at the bottom. He looked up at the blue sky and groaned. If he wasn’t a literal rock, he would have been covered in bruises. As it was he still felt like shit.    

“Well look at what the goat dropped in.” Someone laughed. Skeppy tilted his head back to look behind him, everything upside down. A man in a red sweater cast his shadow over him. 

He smiled and the corners of his eyes creased, his shadow growing as a pair of wings spread slightly behind him “Hey there, you seem new, welcome to Boatem town.” 

“Uuuuu... hey there?” 

“You just gonna to lie there, buddy?” He laughed again, reaching out a hand. 

Skeppy blinked and shook his head rolling over and taking the offered hand as the man helped him up. 

“By the way, I’m Grian, whatcha doing out here?” 

“Skeppy, and I, with my excellent sense of direction, was exploring and definitely not lost in any way. I know exactly where I am. And I’m definitely not the victim of some unnamed prankster” He said, starting to walk towards the village and looking around. They were behind a big mossy house.

“Oooh, a prank you say, I’ve got to hear this.” Grian said, following. They walked around the house into the village center, a tower of boats hovered in the middle over an ominous pit. 

“Naaah it’s boring really,” Skeppy waved his hand dismissively as he stopped near the edge of the Boatem hole and peered over. It went all the way down to bedrock, like L’manburg. “Huh... interesting...”

“Ah, yes. That is the Boatem hole, we're planning on opening it up to the void at some point.” Grian explained.

“The void? Wait, you can do that? That sounds awesome. Imagine the pranks you could pull with that” Skeppy said his curiosity getting the better of his caution.

“I know right, Scar’s already fallen down there several times,”

“Hey Grian, who’s your friend there?” A man with in a maroon coat and a tinny hat said coming over. When he came closer Skeppy noticed a long scar running diagonally across his nose and face. 

“Hey Scar! Speak of the devil,” Grian called out to the aptly named man. “This is Skeppy, he’s absolutely not lost.” Grian quipped, smiling, his voice full of sarcasm. 

“You’re lost you say,” Scar said his voice full of all the honey of a car salesman. Skeppy would know, he used the same honeyed tone when trying to talk Bad or Techno into something that probably wasn’t going to end all that well for them but would be absolutely hilarious to watch. 

“Not lost,” Skeppy quickly corrected. 

“Well even those who aren’t lost are trying to get somewhere. I’m sure you wouldn’t object to us sharing a shortcut or too.”

This man was good. Skeppy didn’t want to look too desperate though. Just add a bit of hesitation sprinkled with some skepticism, that should do it “Well... I suppose a shortcut sounds like a good idea. I am heading for the Badlands, know a faster way to get there?”

Skeppy was met with vacant looks, the car salesman gone. “Actually I have no idea where that is,” Scar shrugged sheepishly “How about you Grian,” 

Grian shook his head “Nope... now that I think about it, how did you get on the server anyway,”

“Um... I... I think, I think I just spawned... It’s hard to remember honestly, it’s been so long.” Skeppy frowned at the strange question. 

Grian and Scare glanced at each other in shock. New players weren't born, they were spawned, but it was very rare for players to spawn for the first time in a community server. Usually they spawned in a private server and then moved into a community when they found one that worked for them. 

“Oh!” Skeppies eyes went wide with realization then horror. If a diamond could blanch, Skeppy was the closest thing to that. “...This isn’t the Dream SMP, is it?” 

“Oh dear...” Grian Muttered, “That’s not good.”

---

TFC had been mining. Now he was standing in the middle of a quartz building. That wasn’t normal. His connection to the server had always been a bit glitchy. Maybe this was just another instance of server glitch. He had been frozen in place for days, lagged out, and even defended. Teleportation could just be added to that list. And it wasn’t all that bad, it’s not like it dumped him in the middle of the ocean or lava. As it was, it seemed like he was in someone's starter base. 

He walked down the stairs and out the glass front doors. There were pools of water to either side of a walkway and the yard was cluttered with large colorful statues. A muffin, a duck. Goodness the hermits were already at it with the pranks this season. 

He walked around the statues and came to the front gate of the grounds. A long wooden path lead off in one direction, and wrapped around behind the mansion in the other. A large red multi story building loomed in the distance. The hermits really had gotten busy. 

It was always nice to see what other people were making but he needed to get back to his mine. He took the path following it around the back of the mansion. The path dropped off suddenly. He jumped down and landed with a grunt before taking some bread out of his pocket and munching on it as he rounded the corner of the quartz building's foundation. 

He faltered as his eyes fell on a massive blackstone building looming out of the sea, two imposing lava infused towers book ending the walls at either side... And he had thought the Red build had been big for early game. This was definitely too big for early game... even by hermit standards. 

He slowly walked closer. Beyond the Quartz house was mostly just an open field until it reached the water. As he got closer he noticed his pickaxe suddenly become unnaturally heavy. It felt strangely like Mining Fatigue. What would a Guardian be doing out here? He returned his pick to his inventory. TFC had seen a lot of things in his time, and this thing felt off. 

“Pst..” 

TFC jumped and looked around for the source of the noise. 

“Over here,” 

Now he noticed the footprints in the ground and a floating potion bottle. That sounded like Etho. 

“Etho?” TFC queried.

“Yeah, it’s me. Here drink this, I can explain later,” Etho said, shoving the potion into TFC’s work calloused hands. 

TFC looked down at the bottle of bubbling silver liquid for a moment before uncorking it and downing the liquid. He trusted the young man with his life. 

--- 

Sam started up from his chair in the dark room where he had been flipping through the prison's security camera feeds, lit only by the glow of the computer screens. He expanded the outside front camera feed to full screen and rewound the feed. A strange old man he had never seen before slowly approached the beach by the prison then just disappeared. Who the hell was that and why did he take an invis potion. 

Sam scowled. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, summoning his trident from his inventory and marching for the exit.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Prompt: Skizz discovers Impulse is a traitor early?

well hello there :D hope this is as good as whatever you had in mind! cuz i dont think i got exactly that lol

...

You whisper to impulseSV: We need to talk. ASAP.

Skizz paces back and forth in his room, anxiously waiting for a response. He hasn’t told anyone what he saw yet; even though he knows he probably should, he just doesn’t want to face it. Something inside him is telling him it’s not true, that there has to be a reasonable explanation. He can’t spread this information before he finds out whether or not it’s true.

impulseSV whispers to you: okay, meet me at my villager hole

Skizz jumps into action and rushes out of the building. He doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going, which might be a big mistake.

He runs all the way to Impulse’s villager hole and bursts in through the non-trapped door. But Impulse is nowhere in sight.

Frowning, Skizz spots a trapdoor with a ladder visible under it that wasn’t there before. He carefully climbs down the ladder and finds himself in an almost pitch black underground room, about the same size as the interior of Dogwarts.

Skizz walks out into the middle of the room, looking around in awe.

“Skizz,” comes Impulse’s voice.

“Gah!” Skizz nearly jumps out of his skin. “Don’t do that! Where are you?”

Impulse materialises out of the darkness. “Hey. Did you come alone?”

“Yeah, I did. I gotta talk to you.”

“So talk.”

Skizz takes a deep breath. “I, uh… I saw you earlier today, meeting with the crastle people. I didn’t hear much of what you said, just something about “gaining their trust”. That… Impulse, you’re on our side, right? You’re just pretending to be friends with them?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” replies Impulse easily. Too easily.

Skizz frowns. “Impulse, please tell me it’s not true. Tell me you’re not betraying us for THEM.”

“I’m not betraying anyone,” says Impulse defensively. “You know me; I’m not capable of that. You… do know that, right?”

“I…” Skizz stares at his best friend. “A few hours ago, I’d have said no. But now… I think you’re capable of anything. Tell me the truth, Impulse. Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course.”

“You’re doing it again! Switching on the ol’ Impulse charm and saying exactly what the other person wants to hear. You know that doesn’t work on me, buddy. I’ve known you far too long.” Skizz narrows his eyes. “You’re a mole. You pretended to join us but you’re on their side and you’re gonna betray us for them. Am I wrong?”

After a moment, Impulse wordlessly turns away, all but confirming Skizz’s suspicions.

Skizz’s stomach drops. “Oh, god… I trusted you! You- You traitor!”

Impulse sighs. “This is just like you, Skizz: running over here to confront me alone cuz you couldn’t POSSIBLY fathom that you might’ve been wrong about me. Did it ever occur to you that maybe this world changes people? That you can’t truly trust anyone but yourself?”

“No!” Skizz snaps. “I trust Ren and I trust Martyn and Etho and I DID trust YOU!”

“And that’s gonna be your downfall.”

He suddenly shoves Skizz to the ground. Before his friend can react, Impulse brings his foot down hard on Skizz’s ankle.

Skizz screams as they both hear it crack. The pain is immense; it’s definitely fractured, if not broken completely.

“See the thing is, I can’t have you running around blabbing about this to anyone,” Impulse says casually. “But at the same time, I can’t just kill you because that would show up in chat. So I think it’s time I test out my brand new trap and see how deadly it is.”

Tears of pain and anger fall from Skizz’s eyes as he stares into the cold, harsh eyes of the man he used to call his brother. “Wh-Why, Impulse…? Why would you d-do this to me…?”

Impulse just shrugs. “I’m just playing the game, Skizz. Sorry.”

With that, he turns and walks away into the darkness.

“Impulse!” cries Skizz, his vision completely obscured by tears. “IMPULSE! DON’T LEAVE ME! PLEASE!”

He hears the click of a lever being pulled in the darkness, followed immediately by pistons moving. His breathing quickening, he rolls onto his side and pushes himself up, but as soon as he puts weight on his left ankle, he knows he’s not going to be able to use it.

A familiar growl pierces the air, causing him to freeze.

A zombie.

More growls.

A LOT of zombies.

The first one that appears through the darkness nearly gives him a heart attack. He manages to slice it down with his sword, but by then, three more have ganged up on him. Trying to back away, he finds himself completely surrounded by a horde of at least two dozen zombies.

“NO!” he screams. “HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!”

The zombies’ claws dig into his skin, and at least two of them manage to bite his arms. Players are able to resist being turned into a zombie through a bite but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Accidentally putting weight on his injured ankle again, Skizz collapses to the ground and curls up in a ball, trying to protect his head and neck. Impulse was clever; he hurt Skizz’s ankle on purpose so he could neither run nor fight for long.

This is it for him. They’re going to kill him.

All of a sudden, a battle yell echoes in the darkness, followed immediately by the sound of zombies taking damage. Multiple zombies taking damage at once. Someone’s come to save him.

The zombies attacking Skizz move away to target this new threat, but they’re no match for whoever it is. Within a minute, all the zombies in the room have been eliminated.

“Skizz!” comes Etho’s voice. “Are you okay?!”

Severely weakened and on the verge of passing out from the pain, Skizz looks up at his friend, unable to muster the words to reply. His vision is swimming, but he can just about see two figures kneeling beside him.

Etho and Martyn. They came to save him.

That’s the last thought in his mind before he passes out.

…

“-is definitely broken. But not like he fell from somewhere and landed on it. More like someone stomped on it until it broke.”

“What?! Who would do something like that?!” “I don’t know. Hopefully Skizz can shed some light on this when he wakes up. Oh my goodness, Ren, you should have seen how many zombies there were. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

“So… you’re saying someone tried to murder Skizzle? Broke his ankle so he couldn’t get away from the zombies?”

“Yeah, I think so. And we think it was Impulse, too. Etho and I didn’t see anyone else around except him, and the hole was under his villager place as well, so we- Oh, look! I think he’s awake!”

Skizz lets out a quiet groan, his eyes slowly opening. As his vision adjusts to the light, he registers Martyn and Ren by his side, and the interior of his bedroom back at Dogwarts behind them.

“Hey, Skizzles,” says Ren gently. “How are you feeling?”

Blinking slowly, Skizz looks down at his arms and finds them covered in bandages. Beyond them, he can see his ankle elevated in a cast. Nothing hurts anymore, to his relief.

“Alive,” he rasps. “For good or for bad.”

“What happened?” Martyn asks. “Do you remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Skizz tries to suppress a sniffle at the traumatic memory. “It was Impulse. He’s a backstabbing traitor and he tried to kill me to stop me from telling you.”

Ren gasps, but Martyn just shakes his head, an anguished expression on his face. “I should’ve known. There were so many little clues but he explained them away so well, I just…”

“He had us all fooled,” Ren murmurs. “I’m just glad we managed to get to you before he got away with murdering you. If he had, we’d never have known, and we would’ve continued to trust him.”

“How- How did you find me?” Skizz asks. “I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

“Etho and I went looking for you cuz we hadn’t seen you in a while,” replies Martyn. “We just happened to be at Impulse’s villager pen when we heard you screaming. Luckily, Impulse had just left and I don’t think he heard you, or he might have tried to kill us too.”

His upper lip curls in an expression of disgust. “We bumped into him right there and it was like nothing was wrong. It makes me sick to think that he was up there chit-chatting to us about his villagers like everything was fine, knowing full well he’d literally just abandoned you to be murdered by a horde of zombies. That goes beyond 3rd Life; that’s… that’s just pure evil.”

Skizz nods slowly. “Yeah, something’s not right with him anymore. Whoever that was… it’s not my Impulse. Something’s changed him.”

“Well, either way, at least you’re alive and his treachery has been exposed,” Ren says. “And we will take our revenge on him for trying to kill you. As soon as he’s red, we take him down.”

“Why wait?” asks Martyn, frowning. “Why not kill him now, while he’s on yellow?”

“Because if we do, he’ll harbour a grudge and try to take revenge on US for killing him once he’s red. And if yellow life Impulse is THAT dangerous, imagine what he can do on red. It’s better to wait and come up with a plan so when he becomes red, we can take him out immediately and prevent further carnage.”

A shiver runs down Skizz’s spine. It feels horrible to be discussing killing his best friend when they had been so close only hours before. Despite everything Impulse has done, he doesn’t actually want him to die. He still loves his brother, no matter what.

Even though he’d love nothing more than to punch him in his stupid face right now.

“Skizz?” says Martyn softly. “You okay?”

Skizz clears his throat. “Y-Yeah. I think I will be.”

Eventually.

[c-r-ash-crash]

New Life Chapter 4

Etho pushed himself to his feet, using the cave wall to steady himself. He rubbed at his face groggily. God, he hated moving to new servers. Especially if that server included permadeath. He slipped his mask on, and clipped his sword and makeshift scabbard onto his waist. He pulled on his gloves and rubbed the sleep from his eyes one last time. Up and at ‘em.

He marched out into the main room of the little shelter he and Bdubs had constructed the night before. He slipped silently into the small tunnel connecting the shelter to Bdubs’ tiny closet of a room. He stepped into the room and saw Bdubs passed out on the bed, sprawled out awkwardly. Etho couldn’t help a small smile at the sight. Then his hand brushed against his sword.

It would be so easy to kill Bdubs right now. His abdomen was completely unguarded, and there were no weapons within sight other than his own. It would be smart too. If what everyone else said was true, Bdubs was also on four lives. Taking one and knocking him down to his lime green life wouldn’t be a bad idea. He wouldn’t go red just yet, but he’d also be easier to take out if need be.

Etho shook his head, letting his hand fall back to the side. What was he thinking? He and Bdubs were allies. He couldn’t kill his fellow hermit. He wouldn’t kill him. Besides he wasn’t a red life yet. He wouldn’t be allowed to kill him. Not yet, at least.

Gently, Etho reached out his hand and shook Bdubs awake.

Grian rode through the forest, reins draped through his fingers. The horse he had found was a beautiful steed, snow white and muzzle speckled with spots of black and dark gray. His search for caves last night had been fruitless. But when he had found the horse, he had found a set of diamond armor tied to the creature's side. Part of Grian wondered if it was a gift from the universe. Most of him really, really hoped it wasn’t.

Suddenly, he heard two voices drifting through the trees. One was male, one was female. He recognized Scar’s voice instantly, and after a moment, he also recognized Lizzie’s. Quietly, he dismounted and wrapped the horse’s reins around a tree. “I’ll be back in a minute, buddy,” he murmured. Then he set off.

After a moment, the trees cleared to reveal a small river side beach and a cave plunging into the side of a small hill. Scar was sitting on the edge of the hill, and Grian could see a bright pink and blue smudge just inside the cave that must have been Lizzie. “You know, I’m actually the boogeyman,” Scar was saying. “So you should definitely give me a life.” Grian froze.

“Scar, don't joke about that!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Scar leapt to his feet and Lizzie scrambled to see over the hill. “Oh, hey, Grian,” Scar said, grin growing wider. “Didn’t see you! Did you hear what I was telling Lizzie?” “About how you’re actually the boogeyman?” Grian said, eyebrow raised. “Do you even know what the boogeyman does?” “Well of course!” Scar said. “Then you know that if the boogeyman doesn’t kill someone in nine days then they become a red life?”

Scar’s face fell momentarily, horrified. But then his eyes lit up with mischief. Grian swore under his breath. “Of course I knew that,” Scar said, turning back to Lizzie. “Which is exactly why you should give me a life, Lizzie. If you do that then I won’t kill you this round.” “But why’s that such a big deal?” Lizzie asked. “I have plenty of lives to spare. It doesn’t really matter if you take one. Besides, this is just a game right?”

Grian flinched back, and Scar’s jaw tightened. “No, Lizzie,” he said quietly. “This is not ‘just a game.’” “Lizzie,” Grian explained, voice slightly pained. “If you lose all your lives, then you're dead. Like, permanently. It was a miracle we survived last time. I don’t know if the universe will let us come back this time.” The mood sombered. Lizzie simply stared as she processed what Grian had just said.

Then, suddenly, Scar clapped his hands together, startling the others out of their thoughts. “That’s exactly why you don’t want me to kill you, Lizzie,” he said. Suddenly, Grian had his arm caught in his grip and was pulling Scar into the trees. Scar stumbled along behind him, spluttering indignantly. Once they had reached the spot where Grian had left his horse, he shoved Scar up against a tree.

“This isn’t a game, Scar,” he growled. “Lizzie is a friend. And if she dies, she could die permanently. Don’t ever threaten people like that again. Our actions have actual consequences. This isn’t just some harmless scam you’re pulling. This is people’s lives, Scar. Do you not see how messed up that is?” Scar’s gaze hardened. “Grian, let me go. Now.” Grian didn’t move. “Grian,” Scar warned, much more firmly this time.

“Promise me,” Grian said, voice small and almost defeated. “Please, Scar. Promise you won’t pull a stunt like that.” “I promise,” Scar said. Grian didn’t notice the way he crossed his fingers as he spoke. Grian released his hold on Scar. Suddenly, Scar sprinted away and began untying Grian's horse from the tree. “What are you-” Grian said, but before he could finish the sentence, Scar was already galloping away.

Bdubs pressed his ear closer to the wall, listening for the tell-tale sound of lava. His brow furrowed, but then he pulled back. “This wall should be clear,” Bdubs said. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even get lucky and it’ll open into a cave.” Etho nodded silently, then gestured for Bdubs to move.

Bdubs stepped back as Etho raised his pick and brought it down on the rock face. A minute later, he had broken through the wall. He brushed away a few stray pieces of stone, and Bdubs tucked the item drops into his pocket. “Well, shall we see what’s on the other side?” Etho asked. Bdubs nodded, and slipped through the opening.

There was indeed a cave. Quickly, Bdubs propped a torch up against the wall, and scanned the area. He saw a few veins of iron and coal, but otherwise, nothing truly useful. “No diamonds in here,” he called back to Etho. “There’s some iron though if you want that.” “I think we’ve got bigger problems,” Etho said from right beside Bdubs. Bdubs jumped. “Geez,” he muttered. “How long were you standing there?” Then he noticed Etho was staring intently at a darkened corner of the cave.

Bdubs followed his gaze to see Tango and Skizz standing in the corner, hands on the hilts of their swords. “Oh, hey guys,” he greeted. “How long have you been in here?” “Couple hours,” Tango said evenly. “Stayed here once we heard you guys coming though. You might want to consider being more careful. After all, we only have so many lives.” Bdubs’ hand strayed towards his sword. “We do,” he said, a hint of threat creeping into his voice. “I would be pretty careful if I was you.”

Suddenly Etho broke in, trying to diffuse the tension. “So, how’s the resource gathering been going, gentlemen?” “Pretty good,” Skizz, still slightly cautious. “We found a couple of diamonds.” “Oh, really?” Etho said. Bdubs could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “How many?” “Four,” Skizz said with a shrug. “That means two each.”

Before anyone could blink, Tango was entangled in spider webs, another cobweb item floating in Etho’s hand. “Well, gentlemen, it’s wonderful that you’ve found some diamonds. But let me explain how this is gonna go,” the ninja said, calmly, tossing the cobweb from hand to hand. “One of us is the boogeyman. If you want to escape with your lives, you’ll hand over those diamonds.” “We don’t even know what the boogeyman is supposed to be,” Tango scoffed. “That’s hardly a threat.”

“Oh, I’m happy to explain,” Etho said. “You see, the boogeyman is someone randomly chosen by the server every nine days. And guess what? They get to kill people regardless of how many lives they have.” Bdubs felt sick. Etho was literally threatening to kill their friends. Did Etho know Bdubs was the boogeyman. If Bdubs really thought about it, his strategy was a good one. Someone on the server was allowed to kill, and no one knew who it was. Using that fact to get better resources was a good move. Bdubs tried desperately to ignore how vulnerable Tango was right now, how close at hand his sword was.

Skizz’s hand crept towards his sword. “Ah ah ah,” Etho warned. “There are two of us. One of you is trapped, and one of us is allowed to kill. I wouldn’t try anything Skizz.” Bdubs’ stomach began to turn. It would be so, so easy to kill Tango right now. He shoved the thought down.

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” Etho said. Bdubs’ hand brushed over the hilt of his sword. Suddenly, he drew it, and Skizz and Tango flinched back. He cut the webs away from Tango. “Get out of here,” he ordered. Tango and Skizz didn’t protest, sprinting out of the cave. Bdubs watched them go. The headache from yesterday was returning. He ignored how feverish his skin felt, ignored the growing nausea in his stomach. He should have killed Tango.

Pearl added another layer of stone to the small platform she and Scott had made. He was a few blocks above her, scanning the nearby forest for any signs of other players. She glanced up, ready to ask him what he was seeing, but stopped when she saw his expression.

He was sitting despondent on the edge of the platform, twisting his crown between his hands, rubbing his thumb over the rim. The poppy he had picked earlier was sitting by his side, seemingly forgotten. What had happened between him and Jimmy earlier. Clearly they had been friends, at least once upon a time. But it was clear that wasn’t the case anymore, or at least Jimmy hadn’t wanted that to be the case. She watched as Scott’s fists curled around the crown. He looked as if he wanted to fling it away. But after a moment, he relaxed. Pearl sighed affectionately, and began clambering up the tower.

Before she reached the tower however, she heard the sound of horse hooves, and glanced down to see Scar riding a beautiful white horse. “Hey, Scar!” she called down. Scar startled, but then he too called down to Scar. “Hey guys!” Scar called up. “What’re you up too?” “Just a quick break,” Pearl said, dropping back down to the lower half of the platform. “Nice, nice,” Scar said. “Say, Pearl, I can’t help but notice you’re on your dark green life.”

“I am,” Pearl said, not missing the way Scott’s hand drifted to the bow slung across his back. “Well, that means you have a few lives to spare,” Scar said. “You know, we have a give life command now, so you can just transfer lives to each other.” “Oh, really?” Pearl said. “And I assume you want me to transfer you a life?”

“Well, of course,” Scar said. “But if you need some extra incentive, I’m also the boogeyman.” “What does that mean?” Scott asked warily. “It means I’m allowed to kill you.” Pearl froze. Casually, Scott unslung his bow. “Lot of good that does you,” he said. “It’s two versus one. Besides we’re up here and I have a bow.” Scar’s face fell. Then, they heard the sound of soft humming drifting across the clearing. A few minutes later, Jimmy appeared at the edge of the little field. Scar’s face lit up. “You may be safe but Jimmy’s not,” he said. “What?” Jimmy asked, startled by the sudden acknowledgement of his presence.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Scar greeted. “Have you heard of the wonderful give life command?” “I have actually,” Jimmy said, pleased. “I bumped into Grian earlier. He told me about it.” “Well, then, surely you already know how to use it,” Scar said. “I’m not giving you my life Scar,” Jimmy said. “Would it convince you if I told you that I’m the boogeyman?” Scar said, a bit of menace creeping into his voice. “I could just kill you if I wanted too.”

Pearl didn’t miss the way Scott instantly loaded an arrow and aimed it at Scar’s head. “I’m not giving you a life, Scar,” Jimmy said again, a bit more nervously this time. “‘Cause then I’ll be on my red life, and I really don’t think anyone wants that. I have a spyglass, though.” There was silence for a moment, but then Scar shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll accept that.” Jimmy tossed it to Scar, and scampered off as quickly as he could.

Pearl didn’t miss how Scott waited until both Jimmy and Scar were out of sight before he let himself relax.

Grian clambered up the hill to the enchanting table that marked spawn. He opened the book that lay in the center of the table, and smeared lapis dust across his sword. He began to speak the enchantment, but suddenly, he heard something hit the ground behind him. He whirled around, brandishing the sword but relaxed when he saw Etho.

“Man, Etho, we really need to put a bell on you,” he joked. “Please don’t” Etho said lightly. “That sounds like it’d be a nuisance.” “Yeah, but you couldn’t scare the rest of us half to death all the time.”

Etho rolled his eyes, and tossed a crafting table to the ground. “Bdubs, where are you?” he called down the hill. “I’m here, I’m here,” Bdubs complained, appearing as he spoke. “Cool,” Etho said. “You can get our stuff enchanted after Grian.” Bdubs nodded. “Tables free,” Grian said, resheathing his sword. “I see your resource gathering has been going well.” “Yeah,” Bdubs said, rubbing lapis across his and Etho’s swords. “Took us a while to find diamonds, but eventually we did.” “Nice,” Grian said. “What are you making, Etho?” “Jukebox,” Etho said, tossing the item to the ground as he did so. “Yeah, we found this really cool music disc earlier.”

Etho slipped the disc into the jukebox and eerie music began to echo throughout the night. “You know,” Etho said. “Whenever you hear this, someone’s about to die.” Grian burst out laughing. “Oh man,” Grian said. “Please tell me one of you is the boogeyman so we can make this happen.” “You’re correct,” Bdubs said.

Suddenly, a sword was slashing across Grian’s chest. “Wait what?” Grian said stumbling, fumbling to draw his own sword. Before he could do anything though, Bdubs made another thrust at him, piercing his shoulder. Grian turned tail and spirited away. He reached the edge of the river, and was about to jump into the water when a sword plunged into his back and through his chest.

Grian was slain by Bdoubleo100.

[micer2012]

no cure is coming, you know (LLSMP Fic)

A few months into Last Life, Skizz and Tango are some of the only members to still hold onto their humanity. With Tango the only member on dark green and Skizz on yellow, Skizz is cursed as the Boogeyman at the beginning of their session. He knows that without hesitation, without question Tango will give one of lives to him… and that’s exactly the problem. [3k words] [crossposted on ao3]

just trust in me, my dear… no cure is coming near.

“Skizz! Countdown time!”

Skizz heard Tango’s voice coming from one of the top layers of their castle, their home. He put down the axe he had been using and ran inside the castle, shutting the door behind him.

“Boogey time?” Skizz called. “Boogey time, my brother!” Tango responded, barreling down the stairs to meet Skizz.

And right on cue, as the moon hit the highest point in the sky, the countdown began in their heads. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Silence filled their home.

“Nothing. You good?” “Yeah! Yeah, ob-viously. What, were you worried?”

Tango laughed. “I- I mean a little. I gotta be worried a little. There’s what.. 5 non-reds left?”

“And MY teammate is the only one who’s still on dark green.” Skizz boasted, hand on his chest.

Tango punched him playfully, snickering. “Don’t get so high and mighty! I went from.. What, 11 lives? Down to a measly 4.” “That’s only because you were such a good sport about it, Tango Tops. You coulda kept those for yourself, y’know. Been the schamaze of all time.”

“Ha!. Suppose it would have been. But- but I bet we’d have FAR more enemies. It would not have been a good idea to be on that many people’s bad sides that early…” “I coulda took em.”

Tango laughed again. “Y’think? Etho and Bdubs? Cleo?” “I coulda took em. If they were trying to hurt my best friend.”

Tango smiled sadly at him, before looking down. “I wouldn’t want you to lose any more of your own lives because of My theoretical jerk move.” Skizz just looked at his friend, before sitting down on the floor, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Well, Theoretically, I wouldn’t lose any lives then! I’d just do a super good job, and kill them down to 0.” Tango let out another laugh. “Says the guy who lost his life to a mob!”

Skizz pointed his finger accusatory at Tango, still criss-cross applesauce on the ground. “Hey, it wasn’t a ’’’mob’’’ it was a BABY ZOMBIE. You KNOW how much I hate those Lil’ annoying kids! Those- Those are more dangerous than most of the people on this server. THEY are the ones with the bloodlust, I’m tellin you.”

Tango laughed again. “Heh, suppose you’re right. At least it wasn’t an enderman, right?” Skizz narrowed his eyes. Yellow, but the sclera were still tinted purple from the… events of the previous season. “Tango Tops, if I had lost my first life to an enderman AGAIN, I think I would have just quit the server.” Tango snickered. “True that! True that. Alright, I’m gonna go back to my scouting.” Skizz pushed himself up from the floor. “Of course! I’ll be.. I think I might go caving.” Tango turned back to meet his eyes. “W… Will you be far from the base?”

Skizz paused, and then shook his head, hands up. “No, no! Just like, tunneling nearby. I won’t.. I’m not leaving our base, I’m not leaving you here with the.. With those Swarms.”

Tango nodded. “Of course, of course just.. Just checking. Are.. Are you sure you want to go out alone? The boogeyman just got chosen and- and you’re… one of the 4 victi-”

“Hey, don’t you talk like that. You’re a much higher target than me, and you Know I can take care of myself, right?” Tango looked to him, then looked away. “I’m just.. On- on second thought, you’re sure you don’t want me to come? We can go mining together, better- better to have eachother’s backs.” “Then the castle will be unprotected.” “I don’t care. Better it get raided than us.” “No, this- this is our Last bastion. We CAN’T let this fall, then.. Then we’d have nothin’, Tops!”

Tango’s eyes were soft when he looked back up at Skizz. “If I lose you, then I’ll have nothing.”

Skizz was taken aback. He froze for a few moments, before walking over and putting his black-stained hands onto Tango’s shoulders. “Hey, d-don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere! F-FIRST sign of danger, I’m calling you and running back home. Okay, buddy?” Tango nodded. “Yeah.. Yeah. Okay. Be-be careful.” Skizz patted his shoulders, before walking out to leave the base. “Of course, Tops! Nothing bad’s ever gonna happen to your buddy Skizz.”

❤❤❤

You are the boogeyman. You must by any means necessary kill a green or yellow name by direct action to be cured of the curse. If you fail, next session you will become a red name. All loyalties and friendships are removed when you are the boogeyman.

Skizz looked down at the message sent to him on his communicator, hands shaking so much it was hard to read the screen.

But he didn’t need to read the screen, he had heard the message beamed loud and clear into his own head. He- He had lied and Tango had believed it. Tango would believe anything he said. He knew that- He- He knew the second he told Tango he was the boogeyman, his friend would immediately let him take one of his lives and free Skizz from the curse. He probably wouldn’t even be mad that Skizz had lied to him earlier.

Skizz had dug himself a hole in the wall of one of the mountains near their base, 10 deep and covered up. He paced the 3x2 room he had made now, this tomb, ranting to himself. He needed to get his thoughts out SOME way.

“Ok. So.So I-I’ve gotta get SOMEONE. A green or y.. Oh, this WHOLE time too I thought killing one of the reds would be fine- THAT would be too easy huh?? We’ve got HOARDS and hoards of hostile reds trying to hunt us down every moment, targeting us like mobs- but NOO. Nooo, it’s gotta be one of the people who’ve still got humanity, huh? Cruel. CRUEL trick to play on Skizz.”

Hand on his head, he scrolled through the list of names on the communicator. He and Cleo were on yellow, BigB and Lizzie were on green… Tango was on dark green. He scrolled back down, cutting off Tango’s name. No. No, that was off the table.

“T..Tango Tops has got the best chance of winning right now out of all of us. Even- not just Life wise, but he’s sharp. Tango’s a sharp cookie. Right now, he’s got the best shot of winning.”

He kept looking at his communicator, before shoving it back into his pocket and groaning, hand on his face. “GAAAGHH, WHY DOES IT GOTTA BE A GREEN OR YELLOW?? L--Lizzie and BigB and Cleo, they’re still up this long because they’re Set up. They’ve Got an alliance, they- they’re untouchable to the reds. I surely won’t be able to be touching them!! ‘Specially without Tango’s help!!” He gripped his face, growling again, before punching the cobblestone wall to the side of him. “And-And I CAN’T tell Tango this. I’m not bringing him into some.. Into some yellow and green fistfight. He’s gotta stay safe, he’s the biggest target on the server.” Skizz was breathing heavily, adrenaline that had been building up leaving as his hand stood in place in the small crater he had made in the wall. “He..He’s gotta stay safe. He’s got the biggest chance of surviving out of everyone. I..” Skizz withdrew his fist, balling it up and rubbing it with his other hand. It hurt. “I can’t do that to him. I’m not gonna be the one who hinders my buddy’s chance.”

The adrenaline gone, Skizz just stood in his little 2x3 box, the chill of what he had to do running up his spine. He kept running his hand over his other hand. “I...I can’t do that to him.”

❤❤❤

He had memories of being reckless and running into battle. Of- Of the loyalty to his friends and the stab of betrayal overcoming his senses, along.. Along with the drive to kill. The drive to dig his sword through Impulse’s heart, through Grian’s, through Tango’s, it.. It was the worst feeling he had ever felt in his life, and it had completely enveloped him.

He remembered Ren crying out, asking him what he was doing. He had convinced himself he was doing it for their benefit, right? Skizz had screamed, as he ran towards the castle, he was doing it for the Red Army. For the only people who defended him. For the only people who gave him a chance. And that chance he had immediately squandered, leaving the Red Army with 1 man less the coming week and.. And leading to Skizz having to watch his friends run into a battle that all of them knew they weren’t going to be coming out of. Skizz had known that when he surged the Crastle too. This was a death game, only one person could make it out alive, and they were all resigned that they were not gonna be that lucky winner.

Skizz ran his hand over the scars around his mouth. Vertical slits where his face had torn itself open, enderman hostility Not mixing well with his human anatomy. His arms were stained black too, not that he had noticed, taken how often they had been stained with blood.

A voice that sounded like his own was talking in the back of his head, reminding him that He was the boogeyman, and reminding him of what he needed to do. Like he could forget.

❤❤❤

Tango was holding his hand, and the two of them were bolting. A swarm of reds, what used to be the southlanders, was chasing them, and their base was already compromised. There were only a few minutes left of this session, if- if the two of them could just get to safety-

“HERE! TANGO, FOLLOW ME!” Skizz let go of Tango’s hand and started digging into the wall, into the cobblestone he had used to patch up his Vent Hole from earlier today. Tango followed after him, panting, as they dug their way into the wall and closed the opening behind them.

“Th...D’ya think we’re safe here?” Tango managed between breaths. Skizz was breathing heavily too, holding his chest. It sounded like the man was about to pass out, whole body leaning onto the cave wall. “Skizz.. Woah, Skizz buddy, take some breaths. The sessions almost over I- I think we’re good.”

When Tango went to go put his hand onto Skizz’s shoulders, he jolted back, chest still heaving.

“Th.. The sessions almost over?” The words sounded incredibly pained.

“Y-Yeah. Few minutes til midnight.” “Few minutes til midnight…” Skizz stuck on the words, and then slumped down against the wall, falling into a sitting position. He was still holding his chest.

“I don’t think anyone’s been killed by the boogeyman yet, right? All the deaths have been red.”

Skizz, still slumped over, did not react to this news.

“...This’ll be the first week where the killer fails, if something doesn’t happen in the next minute..”

A pained sob was expelled from Skizz, shaking his entire body.

“S-Woah, Skizz? Are you- did you get hit? I have regen potions, are- what’s wrong?”

Skizz was shaking now, trying to not make noise as the tears ran down his face. He was failing.

“Talk to me man, use your words. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” Tango was kneeling next to him, also on the floor now.

The tears hurt Skizz as they surged down his face.. A kind of singing burn, like his cheeks were being branded. It had been happening ever since 3rd Life ended, a side effect of the whole enderman thing. It was excruciatingly painful when he was crying big, painful, tears like now, but not as painful as his mind was. Not as painful as knowing what he had to do was.

He could hear the countdown in his own mind. Second by second it ticked by, and the letters filled his brain and his vision with large red text. It was screaming at him. He was screaming back at it, desperately trying to get it to shut up. There were other voices in his mind too, screaming and crying and tugging at him. He can’t do this, He has to do this, Why won’t he get it over with and do it already? He’s learned nothing from last season, keeping this in is just gonna make this more painful for both of them, he deserves all this pain for what he put Tango through.

He was gripping himself with both his arms now, shaking. All of his senses were screaming that he had T-60 seconds left to kill a green or yellow name.

“I.. I-” Skizz managed, voice cracking. “Yes?” “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh!” Tango moved away from his best friend slightly. “Uh, Here, I have a bucket. Let me pour out the water.. Here. Here you go, buddy.”

Skizz was holding the bucket now. His darkstained hands were holding on so tight, it looked like the steel might crack. Not just his hands now, it looked.. It looked like his entire arms were turning black in a veinlike pattern. Tango couldn’t see his face.

Skizz kept hold on the bucket. T-50 seconds left. He had to get on with it.

Skizz slowly moved his hands to the buckles of his chestplate, and started undoing them.

“Wh- What are you doing? Are you hot?”

Skizz pulled the chestplate over his head, and set it aside. “I-I uh Drats I just. Poured out the water. Um, I’ve got.. potio-”

“Tango. Look at me.”

Tango turned back and focused his eyes on his friend. The tears were still running down his face leaving burnmarks on his cheeks, his eyes were still covered, his.. His chestplate was off. The blackness in his veins ran across all the space his skin was visible and.. and he was shaking like an egg about to crack.

T-40. “You- you remember what you said about the boogeyman not killing yet, right?” His voice was shaky, like the words hurt to get out.

Tango’s face was frozen, and then dropped.

“Skizz.. No. NO.”

Skizz’s grip on the bucket got tighter. T-35.

“Skizz I- Skizz, you KNOW if you had just told me I would help you get a kill ri- Ok.Ok, No I’m not mad. There’s no time to get mad, I’m not mad at you, I’m just.. Skizz, you know this isn’t going to break our alliance, right? I’ve told you countless times, I trust you.”

Skizz convulsed like he was trying to hold in another sob, eyes still not meeting Tango’s.

“I’m… I’m not mad. I’ve got 4 lives left, I in no way think less of you. This was inevitable.”

T-25. “Here.” Tango took Skizz’s hands, cold and limp in his grip, and placed his Netherite Sword into his hands. They had only had enough to make a sword for Tango- of course, Skizz had found the Netherite first, but insisted it was used on his buddy.

“Do what needs to be done. I won’t think any less of you.”

Tango spread his arms out now, crouched in front of Skizz.

15.

Do what needs to be done. Skizz..Skizz needs to do what needs to be done, alright. It didn’t make it hurt any less, knowing this was what he had to do. It didn’t make him any less scared.

10.

This was the worst case scenario. Tango had the greatest chance out of all of them of living.

8.

Skizz certainly had no chance. And he didn’t want to drag his only friend, his brother down with him. Like he had dragged the Red Army with his own selfishness.

5.

Tango had the best chance of winning out of all of them.

4.

His hands were shaky as he moved the sword into the correct position, inches from his heart.

3.

You are the boogeyman. You must by any means necessary kill a green or yellow name by direct action to be cured of the curse. If you fail, next session you will become a red name. All loyalties and friendships are removed when you are the boogeyman.

2.

Skizz was scared.

1.

“DO IT ALREADY!” Tango yelled, arms thrown out and eyes squeezed shut.

Skizz drove the blade through his chest, piercing his heart.

Piercing his heart.

“Wh-” Tango opened his eyes, and screamed. That scream was the last thing Skizz heard before his vision went black.

“N-NO WHAT- WH NO.NONO” Tango was holding his body. “NO, N- I’VE GOT HEALING ITEMS. I’VE GOT POTIONS, OKAY? ST-STAY IN THERE BUDDY-”

Tango was frantically shifting through his inventory, holding Skizz’s corpse in his other hand.

The second his hands found his way upon an apple, lightning was heard outside the cave.

It pierced through everyone’s hearts, a shot in the air heard serverwide.

When Tango looked back to the body it was gone, the only sign left of his brother being a pile of still items.

“No. N-No. No, I- I was at gr.. No, No h..this. This has to be a dream, th- this has to be a nightmare I- I can’t.. I, I can’t……………” Tango’s voice trailed off into incomprehensible quiet sobbing. He was curled up in a pile around the items, holding close the only remainder of his friend. The only thing that he had left period, since the castle had been taken… But he would have took a thousand structures falling to keep his friend. He… He would have done anything to keep his friend. Both Skizz and him knew that.

❤❤❤

Skizz had respawned in the spruce forest. He was leaning against a tree, still weak on his feet. There was a hole in the middle of his chest, and it hadn’t stopped bleeding.

The reds weren’t gonna hurt him now, he had become one of them. A murderer, just like them.

The curse needed a green or a yellow’s life taken to be broken, and he sure had a spare yellow life.

He wasn’t gonna let his own incompetence, his own selfishness doom the fate of his friend again. Tango had the best chance of winning, and he needed to keep all 4 of those lives.

As-as a red he could help too, right? Pick off any other reds that make claims on his friend. Of.. Of course, he couldn’t speak to his friend anymore. He couldn’t see him. He couldn’t even get his stuff.

It was better this way. Tango had the greatest chance of winning, and he was only going to hinder that chance.

He took his communicator out of his pocket, hands still shaking. They were covered in red now, and the communicator’s screen was splattered with red as well.

Skizzleman was killed by Skizzleman using [YOU BET YOUR LIFE]

LDShadowLady> …

Grian> WHAT

SolidarityGaming> ?????

Skizz looked down at the screen.

Tango hadn’t typed anything.

He put the communicator back into his pocket.

This session was ending now. And the next session might be his last. But he didn’t care, his own life didn’t matter, as long as he used his corpse to lift his brother to the win.

He had learned from season 1, hadn’t he?

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter 11

The big one! This literally took weeks to complete. I wanted it to be done.

We are inching ever closer to the end of this arc. Two more chapters I think.

This one is much longer than the recent ones, but don’t worry. That theme most likely won’t continue.

Warnings: // non-explicit blood, violence, and injury, Major Character Death(s) \\

Scar called upon all of his allies on an exceptionally cold evening, a wicked blizzard was blowing through the server as Scott walked hand in hand with Jimmy through the white-out. Even the desert wasn’t spared from the stirring storm.

A broken line of lights were ascending up Monopoly Mountain, all headed to the same meeting.

When everyone had arrived, warm drinks were passed around. Cleo, Bdubs, Tango, Scott, Jimmy, Grian, and the resident Enderman were huddled in the living area.

Scott was biting his nails, so to speak. He was pretty sure he knew what they were there for; and he was not excited. He sat next to Jimmy and begged that the Red Desert wasn’t going to start a war with Dogwarts. It was going to happen sooner or later, everyone knew that, but Scott felt an ounce of selfishness.

Things were going so well.

He was starting to feel like he was on the wrong side of history. Sitting in that room, Scott had been to Dogwarts after Grain and Scar had tried to burn Skiz’s banner. He was in the room when they started talking about war; and here he was again. In a room talking about war.

He was there for quiet conversations about nonstop threats from Scar and Grian, how they were going to protect themselves, and questioning why it had to be them.

Pizza was dead. The air was unstable, everyone could feel it.

Scar began talking about a plan to trap the Sand Castle. Grian was confident that their new bunker would protect them well enough and had even started moving their things out. Dogwarts was to be baited into the castle where Scar would be waiting for them, to pull the trigger and blow the entire building to smithereens with the Red Army inside.

The thought of it made Scott’s insides turn. He’d already jeopardized his entire mission by falling for Dogwarts, becoming their friend when he was supposed to hate them, he kicked up the dirt when he suggested that Etho’s house was flammable, another slip up and the house of cards he’d built could be pulled down around him.

The whole meeting Scott just sat on the couch feeling sick. Too cowardly to say it was wrong. When he knew it was wrong. Like always, he let someone else steer his life for him. Scott watched as everyone agreed and started leaving. A feeling of distance fell upon him as he walked back home, Jimmy in the lead this time.

Tomorrow. He only had until tomorrow to decide whose side he was on. Scott stared at the ceiling in bed, he knew he wouldn’t be seeing a second of sleep when his pager started beeping. Already knowing who it was, Scott quietly left the house once more.

Dogwarts was eerily silent on top, but a quiet conversation emitted from the living quarters. Every member was sat around the room conversing with each other about their plan of attack. Tango shot him a glance when he entered the room, his eyes went wide and he excused himself from his conversation with Joel.

“Scott?” He whispered scoldingly when he was close enough, shoving the other to the most empty side of the room.

“I can’t do this Tango, I’m telling them,” Scott whispered.

“What? No, no, no, you can’t back out now! My god- Scott how could you even come here?” Tango hissed through his teeth.

“This is wrong! You know it’s wrong! I can’t just stand by anymore, I can’t do this to them,” Scott tried to keep his composure. He pleaded.

“And what about the others? What about you? Us?” Tango asked, his face was pale.

Scott closed his eyes, he’d done everything in his power to give as little information as he could about the Red Desert Alliance to Dogwarts. He wanted to protect people, of course, but he knew there was no escaping the war. Even if he didn’t say anything tonight. Something would happen tomorrow.

His friends were wrong, he’d grown enough to see that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, drowning out the lump in his throat and turning away from Tango, who yanked his sleeve in a last ditch effort. It was too late.

Scott strode over to Ren, tapping him on the shoulder. The Red King looked down, dismissing Etho and addressing Scott.

“Hey dude,” he greeted.

Scott’s hands shook as he formulated his admission, “The Red Desert is going to war with you tomorrow,” he said. Plain and simple.

The horrific shock on Tango and Impulse’s faces could easily be read as concern for the Red Army.

Scott felt like he shrunk to the size of an atom as everyone took turns looking at each other. Ren brought a steady hand to his chin, resting it on his knuckles in thought. The lights glared pure white off his glasses.

He walked to the table in the middle of the room and gazed upon the map, leaning over it to ponder. Scott fell back against the wall, his heart was pounding in his ears. He wasn’t even paying attention when Ren started firing off about their plan of action.

He wasn’t listening when Tango yelled at him on the way home. All he could think about was what the hell he was going to do now.

The jig was certainly going to be up tomorrow. Someone was going to be accused of spying, and when one of them went down, so would the rest.

What would Jimmy think of him? Should he just come clean? Admit to joining the Red Army on accident and let him figure out how he felt about it?

It didn’t matter. Scott had three hours to rest his eyes, and spend possibly the last peaceful night he would ever have with his husband.

The morning was spent mostly in silence. Scott gathered his weapons and stocked his arsenal with potions. He stared at the wall and went over the situation in his head. Preparing goodbyes, apology speeches, everything he could think of that might go wrong.

“Hey,” Jimmy came up behind him, taking a fire resistant potion out of his hand, “I was scared you were gonna drop it if you floated away any further,” he sat down on the workbench.

“Are you scared?” he asked, taking Scott’s hand and interlocking their fingers.

Scott closed his eyes, leaning his head on Jimmy’s shoulder. He nodded his head, not in the mood to lie.

“So am I,” Jimmy confessed, “just promise me something?” he tucked Scott’s stray hairs behind his ears.

“No goodbyes,” he said. As if he was swearing it into existence.

Scott nodded, doing his best to smile optimistically. He held out his pinkie finger in a gesture of promise. Jimmy hooked his own pinkie around it and shook it a bit, leaning forwards to touch foreheads with the other before leaving to get his armor.

They left at dawn and shivered all the way to the Red Desert. It was exceptionally cold that morning. Like the weather was also fighting in their war. A small group of people was gathered at the bottom of Monopoly Mountain. Most of them were sat sharpening their weapons and counting their arrows. Scott spotted Tango and shot him the most apologetic look he could manage before excusing himself to talk to him.

“Tango,” Scott started.

“You know they’re going to be here any second,” Tango said, “so why don’t you tell us about the plan like you did for them?”

Scott was making his mind up about what he should say when an arrow shot into the sand near his feet. He looked up, scanning the tree line.

It was too late.

Everyone gathered on the sand snapped to attention, drawing their weapons and forming a group opposite to the Red Army. Scar was shaking his head, asking himself how this could happen. Scott walked wearily to the frontlines, his free hand was taken by Jimmy.

Everyone in the Red Desert looked at each other, then Scar raised his bow, and that was it.

Scott was jumped by Impulse. Better him than anyone else, even if his blows were a bit harder due to bitterness. They went back and forth stealing glances at the rest of the battle where a few mounds had been constructed to hide behind.

Impulse kicked Scott onto his back and kneeled on his stomach, taking his air. He leaned in, sparing nervous glances to their surroundings.

“I hope you got your fill of righteousness,” he hissed.

Scott gasped for air, “this was going to happen whether I had a part in it or not,” he said.

“How could you?!” Impulse shouted, but whatever else he was going to say was stolen when Bdubs rushed him from the side, throwing both of them off of Scott and into their own cloud of dust.

Scott breathed in a lung full of dust and rolled over, stumbling to his feet and spinning around to gauge the battle. It was a blur. His mind flew to looking for Jimmy. Someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind a shield, where a stray arrow plunged into the wood.

“Where is Grian?” Tango shook Scott’s arm, sweat was rolling down his face through a coat of brown dust.

“I don’t know! I haven’t seen him since..” Scott froze.

Tango seemed to read the pallid expression on his face and nodded encouragingly.

Scott didn’t finish his sentence. He threw himself to his feet and sprinted across the battlefield, towards the border of the desert. A series of blueprints he’d seen all those weeks ago flashed through his head as he ran. Dodging arrows and slamming into his fellow server mates.

Finally, he rounded a barricade and saw what he was hoping not to see. A few hundred yards away, Scar was taking Ren and Martyn in battle. Inching ever closer to a disarmingly empty plot of land. Scott knew that if you weren’t aware, you’d barely be able to see the tiny windows sticking out of the sand.

“Scar!” he called out.

Nobody heard him.

Even if they did, there was no time.

The ground under his feet rumbled, causing him to drop his weapon before a flash of pure light pierced the air. He heard screams for a moment, but they were quickly drowned out by a wall of fire ejecting itself from the ground. Scott was knocked off his feet and launched through the air.

He hit the ground with a painful thud, but he didn’t come to a stop until he’d bounced head over heels a few feet further.

Scott’s nose was pressed into the ground as he rolled around in pain. He pushed himself to his knees with shaking arms.

In front of him was a gigantic, jagged crater carved into the ground. Smoke and fire billowed from its crude maw. Scott coughed and tried to wave away the suffocating ash to no avail. It permeated his eyes and throat.

Scott realized he had been rendered deaf for the moment, and partially blind for that matter. He struggled to his feet and outstretched his arms for balance, falling over twice before his purchase returned to him.

Someone grabbed his arms from behind and spun him around, touching his face and holding him up steadily.

“I can’t hear!” Scott shouted, pointing to his ears in case whoever it was didn’t understand him.

“Can’t see you,” he pointed at his eyes and then at where he assumed the person was.

The person took his hand and formed it into a fist, then interlocked their pinkie with his own.

“Jimmy?” Scott asked, he rubbed his eyes but his hands were taken away. Jimmy positioned his face gently and he felt water in his eyes, washing away the charred debris.

His vision returned to him as the stinging in his eyes subsided. Not so much the same for his hearing, but that was okay. Jimmy hugged him close and looked him over one more time, before tracing the word “stay” on Scott’s palm.

Scott nodded, watching the other go off into the smoke. Probably to help people.

Something moved in his peripheral vision. Through the black smoke came a figure. Scott recognized it as Scar. He was climbing out of the crater. His movements looked painful, he was dragging something behind him.

It became apparent when he hoisted the object over the edge of the crater that Scar was dragging a limp Grian behind him. He laid the other out on the sand, hovering over him with concern etched on his face.

Scott crawled over, shouting to see if Scar could hear him. He pointed at his ears and shook his head. Scott wished he knew human sign language.

Scar turned his attention back to attempting to wake Grian, who wasn’t moving. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Sensing that Scar was beginning to get very upset, Scott told him to sit back.

First he tried patting Grian on the chest, tapping his forehead, then observing him for any sign of breathing. His lips weren’t blue yet, he was still alive. Scott took his fist and pressed it deeply into Grian’s sternum, then firmly rubbed up and down.

Grian didn’t move at first, then his eyes flew open under his cracked glasses. His arms shot up to cover his chest and he cursed profusely at how he’d been woken up. He’d probably have a bruise for a while.

Scott motioned for him to calm down and breathe. Count to ten and back, and so on. Grian followed his instructions, wiping the dirt from his face and off his probably useless glasses.

Once he was sure Grian and Scar were fine, he quietly excused himself. The dust has started to clear now and the silhouettes of Dogwarts and the Red Desert alike were milling around, nobody seemed to be fighting anymore. Presumably lost without their respective captains. Scott’s ears has started ringing, and behind the din he could hear the ghosts of people shouting.

Scott idly counted the people around him. Some were huddled over a hastily constructed furnace attempting to brew last minute healing potions. As he counted, he kept coming up short. He counted again, and again. Every time there were two people missing.

He turned back to the crater. Whose smoke had started dissipating into the sky. He knew who was missing, and as he stared into the gaping wound of the earth, a hand reached up to the sky. Then came down on the jagged cliff, pulling the rest of the body to the surface.

Ren fell in a heap at the edge of the hole. Breathing hard from his journey to the top. Scott didn’t know whether or not to offer him help. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found, probably crunched beneath the debris of the bunker and the rest of the desert, and he was covered in a layer of collateral grime. It painted his clothes black and made his yellow eyes stand out.

He pushed himself to his knees with a lot of trouble, scanning the destroyed battle field with a mirthful expression until his gaze fell on Scott. The way in which they locked eyes made Scott flinch, he was in big trouble.

His mind told him he needed to diffuse the situation, but he was still without most of his hearing. It would be even harder if Ren had also been deafened. A familiar “why me” rang through his head. The urge to just leave and call everything quits nagged at him.

Ren stood on shaking legs and made his way, as quick as he could manage, into Scott’s personal space, who backed away; but he yanked his arm.

He stared talking very fast. Scott saw his mouth move but barely any noise actually processed in his mind. Scott shouted as clearly as he could that he couldn’t hear. Throwing in a few sorry’s as he went.

Ren dragged his hands from the tips of his ears down his face in frustration, his fingertips left smudges on his cheeks and over his eyes. He began doing sign language, but Scott shook his head.

By now a small congregation of people had started observing the argument from a distance. All of them more privy to what Ren was mad about than Scott was. Heat rose to his face in embarrassment as he tried to talk over Ren, trying to explain himself. Ren had started yelling as if it would help, and the argument was getting visibly heated when Jimmy stepped in.

He pushed Ren back with force so that he stumbled. This seemed to cause a chain reaction. Ren shoved Jimmy back, and they went back and forth until Jimmy threw a punch.

Scott attempt to make them stop, he came between them and ordered them to calm down, but tensions were far too high for any de-escalating. His emotions were verging on a serious breakdown, frantically begging the fight to stop. To let him explain.

Nobody heard him. If they did, they didn’t care.

Ren had taken out his damaged axe and started swinging.

Jimmy kicked Ren in the stomach, the ladder fell on his back and Jimmy kicked him again.

“Jimmy stop it!” Scott shouted, and he could almost hear himself.

Jimmy looked up at him, still standing over the Red King. His eyes were furious.

Something passed quickly in Scott’s periphery, so he turned around.

Behind him, one foot still propping himself out of the crater, was Martyn. A freshly shot bow still aimed in front of him. His eyes were dark and angry as he stared right past Scott.

Scott turned back to Jimmy, whose eyes were fixed and frozen on Martyn. He staggered back, looking down at his chest where a poisoned arrow had pierced his battle-worn chest plate. His hand wrapped around the projectile, and as if he weren’t even thinking, he wrenched it from his flesh.

Jimmy’s expression read as shock. Right before his eyes rolled into his head and he fell like a load of bricks onto his knees, then his back. His fingers were still wrapped tightly around the arrow. Covered in a mixture of blood and sickly green poison.

He fell, and he stayed.

Scott didn’t have a second to process. Not even the thought to scream, reach out, or run came to him. A blanket of nauseating numbness draped itself around him. His mind left him as he stared helplessly. He watched as Jimmy’s lifeless body grew tendrils of thorny vines until it was consumed indefinitely. Only an arrow wrapped in rose vines remained. Light green flowers bloomed and waved in the wind.

And as if he were watching himself on a screen, Scott did something that he didn’t know he could do. That he had forgotten he could do.

A flash of light illuminated the livid grey sky.

Just as fast, Scott had approached Martyn, who didn’t have time to run. He didn’t have time to put his arms in front of his face as Scott’s hand curled into a fist.

He brought his knuckles down on the center of Martyn’s face, an audible crunch sounded out as he was knocked off his feet. A horrified expression painted itself on his face as he held his bleeding nose.

Scott raised his fist again, and as he did a string of dry lighting spread across the sky. He aimed again, and when his fist met Martyn’s face, a bolt of light shot down from the sky. It turned the world into a pure white canvas with an ear piercing roar.

In its wake was a blackened patch of burning sand. Scott and Martyn sat just as they had been before, but Martyn would not get up.

His body lay bruised and burnt, eyes closed tightly in pain. The rose vines claimed his remains quickly, wrapping around a pair of bloodied hands instead of an arrow this time.

Scott stayed bent over where his friend had been. Tears streamed down his face as the static disappeared from his ears. He ripped his arms out of the thorns which tore at his bandages. Blood permeated the wrappings, but he didn’t know how much was his.

He pushed himself away, kneeling in the grave he’d created.

“Major,” someone said, cold and angry.

A hand planted itself firmly on his shoulder, spinning him around forcefully. Scott had only a second to see that it was Ren, before he was hoisted up by the front of his shirt and thrown across creation. Landing hard on his ass for the second time that day. His shoulder made a nauseating POP, hanging limply and awkwardly at his side when he pushed himself up.

Ren placed his foot on his chest to keep him down.

Behind Ren, the greater alliance of Dogwarts had gathered. Confusion and betrayal was etched on their faces.

“Not a word, Major,” Ren said. Low and forced, his eyes were blown wide with something like fear.

Then he raised the handle of his broken axe over his head, the hilt made contact with Scott’s skull.

Lights out.

[respectable-username]

"It Glows in the Dark" Chapter 7: Interludes out now!

This chapter, released on 6 Dec 2021, marks exactly one year since I first opened the Word doc that would become IGITD. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Some quiet moments between best friends as they prepare for the final day of fighting.

Chapter preview below the cut

---

Swing hit, swing hit, swing hit.

There's something almost meditative about mining a giant hole. The rhythmic swinging of the pickaxe was a welcome piece of mundanity for Scar after the chaos that had been plaguing the world the last few days. Something comforting about having such a clear progress marker after so much uncertainty.

Swing hit, swing hit, swing hit.

They were two-thirds of the way through hole number three. If he and Bdubs could keep up this pace, they could get five holes dug for the diversions team to fill in the morning. Five!

Swing hit, swing hit, swing hit.

Of course, they'd had Cub's help for the first two holes before Scar had insisted he go home to sleep. After all, Cub could defend them much better tomorrow if well-rested, Scar had argued. He and Bdubs would be safe until the next day. Cub had begrudgingly agreed.

Swing hit, swing hit, swing hit,

So maybe not five holes then, but four should be enough. One per person. That should work well. He wondered how the others were doing. Mumbo and Stress had started the dig for the main bunker, and Grian had volunteered to dig a hole under the treasury for Etho.

Swing hit, swing hit, swing hit.

Scar came to the end of his side of the layer, tearing down the last few blocks along the centre line. A centre line that was a lot higher up than it should be...

Scar hauled himself up the mini cliff dividing the two sides of the room. He found Bdubs leaning back against the hole's wall, eyes closed, one arm crossed while the other rested on the handle of his pickaxe.

"Hey, hey Bdubs," Scar said. "Bdubs, are you ok?"

Bdubs opened his eyes with a start, gripping the end of his pickaxe tighter.

"Oh, hey Scar," Bdubs said, relaxing.

"What's wrong?" asked Scar again.

"Nothing, I'm fine," said Bdubs. "Just... just tired, y'know. It's way past my bedtime."

"No, no it's not that," Scar said. "I know an over-tired Bdubs when I see one. I've caused an over-tired Bdubs more than enough times for that! What's really wrong?"

Bdubs sighed, hugging his arms across his chest. "I'm just... I'm worried, ok!" he said. "We have an overpowered megalomaniac running around the world doing whatever he wants, and we're just sitting here digging a hole! What if this Evil X guy shows up right now out of nowhere, huh? I mean, my PvP skills are even worse than yours! We won't stand a chance."

"But that's why we're preparing," said Scar. "We can't stand a chance alone, so we'll do it together."

"This isn't a Disney Channel Original Movie, Scar," chided Bdubs. "We're not going to save the world through positive thoughts and 'the power of friendship'. This is the real world. And we're fighting against a real monster who can mess everything up with a few taps of a keyboard. What in the world are we supposed to do against that? People are gonna get hurt!"

"I know!" Scar said with a frustrated sigh. He flopped against the wall over beside Bdubs. "It makes me sick to think what Evil X has already managed to do. How badly he got Etho and Cleo. How much worse it could have been. How there is absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I know how we're so ridiculously outmatched here. If he even just did that same wither trick again right now, we'd lose. And I don't want to think about what losing means."

Scar closing his eyes as he pushed his hair back from his face, sweaty from the hours of digging.

"We're useless at fighting. We're useless at redstone--"

"Hey!" Bdubs interrupted.

"I'm useless at redstone," Scar corrected. "We're not going to be capturing ravagers or building fancy vaults or rigging up TNT explosions. And unless Evil X is afraid of flowers or really well-made trees, I don't think building and landscaping is going to be of much use here. All we can do is help the others so that they can stop Evil X for us."

"So, you're agreeing that we're useless then," said Bdubs.

Scar grimaced. It was one thing hearing your inner voice shouting it, but quite another to hear the words coming from one of his best friends.

"We're not heroes," Scar said eventually. "But that doesn't mean we're useless. We're just... we're the support class. We're like R2D2 and C3PO. They didn't fight either, but without their help, Luke, Han, and Leia couldn't have defeated the Empire. Oh, you're 3PO in this analogy, just so we're clear."

"But it's not like we're carrying secret plans with the weakness of the Death Star, or Evil X, or whatever this analogy is supposed to be," Bdubs pointed out. "Also, ha, you made me the taller robot!"

"Yeah but I'm the cooler robot," said Scar with a smile. "And we have shulker boxes full of stone and sand and dirt and logs and gravel. We can turn on farms and we can craft in bulk. We can take things to the others so they don't have to stop what they're doing to grab it themselves. And we can dig hole after hole after hole while the others recover enough to do the actual day-saving tomorrow."

"Can you stop looking on the bright side all the time?" said Bdubs. "It's super annoying."

Scar chuckled. "It's all I've got," he said, his smile tinted by sadness.

"I guess we'd better get back to work then," Bdubs said, hoisting his pickaxe off the ground.

"Bdubs," Scar said, his voice suddenly small. "Do you think we stand a chance?"

"Honestly? No," replied Bdubs. Scar nodded solemnly. "But if we're gonna go down, we can at least go down fighting!"

Scar pushed himself off the wall and held out a hand to Bdubs to pull him up too.

"To fighting in the ways we can," Scar said.

Bdubs accepted the hand.

"Let's get this bastard!" Bdubs said.

---

Keep reading here.

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 7

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, mild torture)

Chapter rating: T

Nice long conclusion chapter to make up for the short one yesterday! From BDubs view, plus nHo hurt/comfort (emphasis on comfort)!

As in all the previous chapter posts, if you’ve enjoyed the ride I took direct inspiration from this oneshot on AO3! Please give them some love and appreciation.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

It had taken days before Xisuma figured out what EX had done to the server that had caused the respawns to break in the way that it had, and how to fix it. However, figure it out and fix the problem he did, and with respawn mechanics back to normal, everyone who had died and respawned during the glitch was able to reset their health completely. And properly set their respawn points as well, since part of the glitch seemed to be that people’s respawns were being set as they were dying. But the biggest adjustment in the days after EX had caused havoc was trying to help Etho recover.

While Etho seemed relatively ok once he was able to talk again (his tongue and all his other lingering injuries were fully healed with the fixing of the respawn, though figuring out a way to get him to respawn was both more difficult and less difficult than BDubs had expected); BDubs was hearing from Iskall that all was still not right with the world. Normally, Hermits would let current season basemates/regional allies/faction mates do the heavy lifting of any emotional or mental stress that a particular Hermit experienced on the daily unless the Hermit asked for help from specific Hermits. But in this case, BDubs felt he should invite Etho to an nHo reunion/get-together. Even if Etho didn’t necessarily need the reunion, BDubs knew the rest of the nHo did. 

They had all been in various states of hysterics by the time they had gotten Etho out of the restraints and the death loop he had been locked in. BDubs had been the first person to breach the room, with Iskall and Beef right behind him. Beef had blocked up the water to stop the cycle as Iskall and a recently arrived Cleo began breaking restraints while BDubs clutched Etho’s freed hand (thinking back, he probably shouldn’t have. Etho’s hands had looked hardly better than the rest of his mangled flesh. He also wasn’t sure how they managed to get his wrists detached from the cuffs, as his arms and wrists were still solidly clipping into the restraints). Hypno had fiddled with the camera and looked over the speakers, before he managed to get everything deactivated and convinced the remaining Hermits to gather at Cleo and Joe’s base. By the time the Hermits were assembled at Joe and Cleo’s base, and Etho had been safely transported from the floating box, Doc was a hissing mess, Beef was greener than normal as his stress seemed to activate the alien transition, and BDubs had resorted to constantly checking his clock (a nervous habit he had picked up from 3rd Life, but the less he thought about that hell server the better). Etho had been quickly whisked away by Iskall to their shared base, but was just as quickly relocated to the Spawn Egg; as neither had wings, and Etho wasn’t nearly healthy enough to try and scale his own base in the sky. Plus, being at the Spawn Egg had the added benefit of easy access by the rest of the server so that other Hermits could stop by and check in on Etho’s progress while they all waited for Xisuma to fix the respawn mechanics. BDubs stopped by once while Etho was recovering. It was a little out of his way when trying to visit the Yes Wings Club, but figured he might as well since he hadn’t seen Etho since they had saved him 2 days before. 

Etho looked about what he had expected to be honest. Since they were worried about whether a normal respawn would register his tongue being gone as normal if they healed it properly with potions, the other Hermits had determined to wait on healing him till after he had properly respawned. That left him bedridden till the server was fixed though, which no one was happy with. BDubs was told later that supposedly Etho had understood during the few times he was lucid enough to listen to someone during that time. While he had been there though, Etho had been solidly asleep, Iskall asleep himself by Etho’s bedside. BDubs had taken a moment anyway to sit on Etho’s other side and just quietly talk to him about what he had been up to in the day or two since they had saved him. Iskall had come to briefly to see who had been talking, before settling back into his chair to rest.

BDubs had left pretty quickly, if he were being honest. Seeing Etho as vulnerable as he was left BDubs feeling a bit ill. After that, it had only been a day or two more of anxiously waiting for Xisuma to fix the server before they had been able to get the other Hermits respawned properly. (There had been several deaths during the time the respawns had been on the fritz, including a couple during the search from fall damage.) But when it came to Etho, they had tried to explain what needed to happen during one of the next times he was awake, but he had been becoming more unresponsive the longer he had been bedbound. So with heavy hearts, it had been decided that Etho needed to respawn as soon as they could decide a way to do so. After much debate between Iskall and Xisuma, it was decided that a quick anvil to the head would suffice.

It was told to BDubs later that Etho had respawned a few paces from the bed he had been sleeping in at Spawn looking incredibly confused and lost. It took close to a half hour to explain what had happened to him before him and Iskall went back to their shared base. And if Iskall was to be believed, it sounded like Etho hadn’t slept since the first night back. Which was almost a week ago. Not that many of the other Hermits were doing better. From the sounds of the grapevine, Mumbo still blamed himself for what had happened to Etho, and despite apologizing and promising Etho a cut of all his profits that season to make up for his decision (which he had been told Etho had forgiven Mumbo for and told Mumbo to keep the profits as he was just respecting Etho’s choice) he insisted on trying to find ways to make it up to an increasingly exasperated Etho. (Which BDubs noted was somewhat out of character, since Etho almost never missed a chance to keep someone in his debt and exploit them for his own projects). Other than Mumbo, Doc had been reported also to not have been sleeping as much, but instead he worked on his most recent engineering marvel. Beef had been throwing himself almost entirely into setting up his own shop outside the Derpcoin market to sell his own brand of non-evil cat food. BDubs knew that Beef was taking the whole: “Derpcoin is actually evil not even a meme” thing incredibly hard, since his whole thing this season had been going over to the dark-side as an alien (which BDubs still didn’t understand how that had started in the first place). BDubs himself was doing just fine thank you very much! Sure, he’d been struggling with sleeping at night himself (every time he closed his eyes he could see Etho strapped to that chair and drowning again), and yeah, he’d been trying to work on the shopping district by the mountain instead of the Horse Course (he had heard from Iskall that Etho had been working on something outside the base, and BDubs had a sneaking suspicion he knew at least one of the projects Etho’d been working on). But he definitely wasn’t nearly as bad as the other members of the old nHo. Definitely. He couldn’t lie to himself, they were all having a bad time. 

So, as BDubs was wont to do, he took things into his own hands and sent invitations to all the nHo members to come by his base for a get together. The date was set, and he visited every member in person leading up to the event to make sure they were coming, no excuses! (He knew it was particularly urgent as when he went to check on Etho, he finally found him sleeping in one of BDubs’ builds next to the horse course, and when he got Etho awake, he cracked exactly 0 height jokes until he tried to get Etho to come by later and it was a height joke every minute. The height jokes were BDubs’ way of figuring out how nicely Etho wanted to play. The less the better.)

But now the day had finally arrived, and BDubs welcomed each one of his friends into his base with open arms and a smile. First to arrive was Beef, seeing as he was closest. Then Doc. Then as BDubs was debating messaging Iskall to find Etho for him, the man himself showed up on BDubs’ doorstep. Everything went off without a hitch in the beginning. They all were able to reconnect and chat about bases and projects they were working on; Doc with his redstone magic he was getting from his friends on another server, Beef and his efforts to create a new kind of cat food, Etho and his many projects ranging from an inventory sorter to the horse course, and BDubs with his latest shop attempts in the Big Eye Crew shopping district. (It was good to see Etho making fun of BDubs’ attempts at making a redstone shop. Etho hadn’t heard of it yet, and it was a delight to see him light up while joking about what BDubs could possibly make with redstone that even someone like Grian couldn’t do themselves.)

It all comes crashing down when Etho asks Beef more about the cat food. Specifically what was wrong with the old cat food. 

Now Beef hadn’t expressly said that he had been working with EX for having a cat food stand at the Evil Emporium; but he had implied that his previous cat food flavor would be going on the back burner. What they all had assumed was that Etho at least generally knew most of the gossip on the server. But what BDubs should have guessed was that Etho had been very absent this season, and unless the current events were directly affecting his plans, he had never been one for being up to date on server events. So BDubs should have guessed that Etho asking about cat food would only end in a bittersweet ending.

“So Beefers, you said something about your cat food getting a new recipe… What happened with the old recipe? Not up to snuff?”

“I will have you know that all my cat food is premium and delicious, and I will not have you slandering it in this way,” replied an overdramatic Beef. 

The nHo chuckled at his antics before Etho came back with, “Well if it wasn’t the quality then what was it? Now you have me intrigued.”

Beef shrugged. “I just wanted a cat food to really call my own is all.”

Etho gave him a look. “Wouldn’t the other cat food be yours too?”

“Well…” Beef looked deeply conflicted. BDubs decided to say it for him. “He was working for the Evil Emporium since he started to change into… I guess it’s an alien?”

Etho stilled at the name, and the rest of the group held their breaths. “Ah,” he replied, suddenly tight as a bowstring.

“Which is why I’m making a new brand of cat food, one which I’ll be selling from a shop near my base for diamonds,” soothed Beef, trying his best to keep Etho away from bad memories.

“I can see why you changed brands then,” replied Etho through a forced calm. He was not subtle in the least however. Bdubs wondered if the hurt in Etho's eyes was from the idea that his closest friend had supported the monster that had hurt him, or the idea that his friend would completely change his plans for the season due to one off script incident? Bdubs had a feeling it was definitely the former.

(BDubs had asked Xisuma after all was said and done if he remembered anything leading up to them being in front of the screen at his base. X had said the last thing he had remembered before that was meeting up with EvilX to discuss business strategies before blacking out after their customary greetings. He explained it had happened before, but he had somehow never thought much of the memory gaps. However, he agreed with the rest of the Hermits that had talked with him about it that it was a problem that would need to be investigated because it sounded like mind control. And a player that could control the server admin was a force too powerful to allow free. Or at the very least, a player that needed to have some very hard limits as to what they could do placed upon them.)

“You know, Etho, have you been ok?” asked Doc hesitantly. BDubs hoped that Doc knew what he was doing, because Bdubs was definitely lost.

Etho looked a bit like a cornered animal at the moment as he looked between the 3 of them like they had betrayed him. “Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?”

Doc gave him a look that BDubs thought was completely justified. “Etho, you went through an incredibly traumatic experience only a week or so ago. It is completely fine if you aren't doing ok.”

Etho sighed. “And what would you even do if I wasn't ok?”

Doc gave a hissy whine and moved from where he had been situated to sit close beside Etho. “Well, we'd figure out what we can do to make it a little closer to being ok.” He looked down at his lap. “I know I've been struggling with sleep recently, so I understand at least if you aren't sleeping either.” Etho looked vaguely stricken.

“You were part of the group that was watching, weren't you?” BDubs watched as Etho began to close off. Doc just nodded miserably. “And the two of you?”

BDubs felt gutted, knowing that Etho either didn't remember him breaking in to save him and holding his hand; or was purposefully ignoring the memory. “I stopped you from drowning more by blocking up the source block...” muttered Beef, looking pretty hurt himself.

“I found your enclosure and got the search party together to come finish breaking you out; and was there next to Beef when he was saving you,” finished Bdubs, a bit more of the hurt shining through because he couldn't hold a poker face even if his life depended on it. But also, Etho needed to see that he wasn't alone, in a lot of ways.

Etho looked appropriately chastised, if also incredibly grateful. “Thank you, all of you.” He leaned lightly into Doc's shoulder; the most affection he would normally show to anyone. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you 3, so thank you. Thank you so much.” They all politely ignored the sniffling coming from behind the mask, though Beef situated himself on Etho’s other side, and BDubs decided to try and strategically place himself on the floor in front of Beef so that if Etho wanted to lean a leg against him, he could. BDubs was so tempted to drape himself over Etho’s legs, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Etho probably wouldn’t handle being immobile in a sitting position well for the foreseeable future. However he was vindicated when his hair was playfully ruffled by an Etho hand as the 4 of them devolved into just sitting with each other. 

BDubs should have guessed that Etho wouldn’t stay down long however, as Etho (after inconspicuously wiping the corners of his eyes dry) said, “so, who wants to help me prank the Boatem Crew?” BDubs could feel the devious smile creeping across his face.

“Now you’re speaking my language Canada boy!” Etho wheezed a quiet laugh above him. 

“You sure you want to be slinging that kind of slander at me short stuff?”

“SHORT STUFF?!?!” BDubs got up in a huff. “I’LL SHOW YOU SHORT STUFF, YOU DAMN BEAN POLE!” Beef, Etho, and Doc all burst into chuckles, leaning into the couch as they tried to get themselves under control. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DO YOU? Ooooooh, you are all playing a dangerous game!”

Etho and Doc proceeded to laugh harder, leaning against each other. “What are you going to do BDubs, bite our ankles?” asked Beef before breaking down laughing again. 

“I’LL BITE YOUR ANKLES JUST WATCH ME!” and with that, BDubs was all over Beef, trying to get a solid shoulder punch in, but being thwarted at every turn. A stray punch at Doc, and suddenly everyone but Etho was rolling around the floor trying to playfully murder each other. Etho wheezed in laughter at their antics, and expertly avoided getting added into their mischief by eventually hopping up a ladder to the next floor and watching from the opening.

Eventually they managed to settle down, and by the time they had gathered themselves enough, it was night time. BDubs, with a lighter heart than when he had let in all his friends earlier in the day, said goodbye to them with promises that if Etho really was serious about pranking the Boatem Crew, the nHo would be right by his side. They left one by one, first Doc (who complained that he was already behind schedule on his build), then Beef (who playfully recommended Etho come help him run his shop if he wasn’t too busy helping Iskall dye prismarine), and lastly Etho. But before Etho departed, he said, “you know, I already thanked you, but I feel I should do it again.” He met BDubs’ gaze. “Thank you so much for finding me. I don’t know how that would have ended if you hadn’t caught sight of that place”. 

BDubs was humbled by Etho’s gratitude, though he still replied with, “You’re my friend Etho, of course I would give it my all to find you. I’m just happy we were able to do so before it was too late. And if you ever need to get away from it all, it’s pretty nice out here once you get past all the big eyes.”

Etho wheezed a chuckle in response, a hidden smile brightening up the corners of his eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind. You take care of yourself now, you hear? I don’t want to be hearing of too many shenanigans from you, ok?”

BDubs laughed in response, and nodded. “Can do! And you do the same, ok?” He let the humor drain a bit, a more serious tone shining through. “If things get bad, please let someone know. Doc knows what happened, and he would be able to tell you who else was there that you could talk to if you needed it.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, yeah. If it gets bad I always have Iskall and you guys.” Etho glanced at a clock in his inventory. “Looks like I should be off. If I start now, I should be able to get back before sunrise.” Etho waved goodbye as he turned to go.

“Stay safe! I’ll see you around then,” called out BDubs as he watched Etho quickly jog to the nearest source of water. Then, once acquired, he flew with the flick of his trident, starting his way back to the nether portal so as to make it back to his base safely.

BDubs went to bed that night content knowing that if Etho ever needed the help, he knew who he could reach out to.

-fin-