#jimmy needs his revenge... please...

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Random life. The number of green, yellow, red, and lost lives is carried over session to session but who they're attached to isn't. Not only can you be green one day and red the next, but the vengeful (or feathery) dead can rise from the grave seeking out their killers. As reds and deads pile up, alliances become more and more important as the chance you'll need someone else to help carry out your will increases. Thought the person you'd messed with was a safe bet? Wrong. Joel be revived and upon ye.

For extra fun, randomise more than once per session.

Letting the dead spectate around would likely break the game entirely, so to make it only slightly broken I suggest letting them stay near the spot they died in or their bed.

WOE. JOEL BE REVIVED AND UPON YE!

[hobi-side]

might just blow it

— pairing: jung hoseok x f!reader

— playlist: danger - txt, smoke sprite - rm, fuxxin' love - OoOo, 24 hours - jimmy brown, steel - 365 feat dana kim

— summary: Revenge is a dish best served hot, and Hoseok might have pushed your buttons, but he’ll soon learn just what happens when the tables turn. Spoiler: You might be the one getting a lesson but it's fun to play with fire.

— word count: 8.1k (like 5k of this is probably filth y’all)

— warnings: pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, hobi is kinda a possesive man, f! masturbation, degradation, bratty reader, little breath play, hoseok has a filthy mouth and idk what else, they were possesed by a sex demon in this piece

— note: this is entirely inspired by the craze of what the hope on the stage tour has been giving us for the past months and more specifically THIS whatever the hell was going on with this man that night i have been thinking about it for over a month and this piece of extremely self indulgent horny craze was born. this is my first ever post here, hope you enjoy it! english isn't my first language! please let me know what you think

The second he steps on stage, he wrecks you.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen him perform—he always leaves you breathless. Ruthless. A storm in human form. The second the lights hit him, the crowd erupts, and suddenly, you're nothing but need in a sea of screams.

You’re not backstage tonight. You’re in the VIP section—closer to him, somehow further from him. The Hope on Tour shirt clings to your body, damp with sweat, your ARMY bomb held in a death grip. No one around you knows the truth. No one knows that the man they’re screaming for—aching for—is yours. You think of those TikToks, smug and stupid: They don’t know I’m his girlfriend. But you do. You know it in the way your body thrums just watching him. You know it in the ache pooling low in your belly. You know it in the fact that you’ve kept him a secret, selfishly, fiercely. Because he’s not a fantasy. He’s real. And he’s yours.

And tonight, he’s out for blood.

You can’t take your eyes off him. Every move is designed to destroy. He dances like he’s fucking the beat into the floor. He raps like he wants to bite. And every time he gets near your section, it’s like he’s looking straight through the noise—straight at you.

Then he smiles.

Not just any smile. That one. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. The one that makes your knees buckle.

And then—forty minutes in—it happens.

Hangsang.

Your pulse spikes. You love this song. At least, you did. Right up until he decides to ruin your life with it.

He makes his way to your section. Slow. Measured. A predator in perfect control.

And then?

He fucking does it.

A casual gesture, at first. One he could get away with. Until he doesn’t. Until his gaze locks on yours like a sniper scope, until he bites his lip and drags his fingers across it like he's testing your patience on purpose.

And then—God help you—he slips those fingers into his mouth. Slow. Deep. Tongue flicking against the tips like he’s tasting you instead.

Your stomach drops. Your thighs clench. You swear you see a thread of spit glisten in the lights.

And then—

Oh, no.

His hand lifts. Fingers curl into the air, sin made physical. A motion you know intimately, one he’s used on you in the dark, against the wall, under the sheets. One that never fails to make you unravel.

Two seconds. That’s all it takes.

The crowd loses its mind—screams, gasps, cries of disbelief. You can already see the fancams being clipped, slowed down, dissected frame by frame.

And he’s still watching you.

Smirking.

Like he knows you’re already soaked through your panties. Like he knows exactly how you’ll fall apart the second he gets you alone. And fuck—he does.

Because Hoseok isn’t just a performer. He’s a menace. A devil in glitter and sweat.

And you know—know—what’s coming later. The teasing. The cocky little tilt of his head. The filthy whisper, hot against your skin:

Couldn’t handle that, baby? You looked so pretty about to cry.

You hate him for it.

But not nearly as much as you love him for it.

When the show ends, and he gives his closing speech, the switch flips. Suddenly he’s not the sin-dripping demon who just mimed fucking the air with his fingers.

He’s just Hoseok.

Hair damp with sweat, eyes glassy with emotion. His voice cracks as he thanks the crowd, thanks the fans, thanks you—without saying it. You see it in the way he clutches his chest, the way he breathes like every second is a gift.

You look at him and feel your heart stretch to bursting.

Your boyfriend is a paradox. Pure chaos. Pure light. He destroys and he heals. And somehow, impossibly, he’s yours.

Backstage is a blur of movement and sound, but your senses are locked on him. Jung Hoseok, still glistening with sweat, flushed from the high of performing, is leaning against a table, chugging water like he didn't just ruin lives for two hours straight. The towel draped around his shoulders does little to distract from the sharp cut of his jaw, the soaked-through shirt clinging to his chest, the glint in his eyes when he spots you.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just watches you approach with that look—the one he saves for private moments. The one that says he knows. Knows exactly what he did out there.

You stop in front of him, arms crossed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Hoseok raises a brow. “Me? What did I do?”

You scoff. “Don’t play innocent. That thing during ‘Hangsang’? You really went with that move?”

He shrugs, a smug tilt to his mouth. “Felt right in the moment.”

“In the moment?” You glare. “You looked me dead in the eye while doing it.”

“Ah,” he says, tapping his fingers against the bottle, voice lowering, “so you admit you were watching me.”

You roll your eyes. “You were practically fucking the air.”

His smile sharpens. “Was I?”

He pushes off the table, stepping in close. Too close. Heat radiates from him like a furnace, and his voice drops to a murmur just for you. “You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it too much, and you know it.”

He hums. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” you hiss, pulse spiking, “is that now I can’t think straight and you’re standing here like you didn’t just mouthfuck your own fingers and ruin my entire nervous system.”

He lets out a soft laugh, biting down on his lip like he’s trying not to lose it. His eyes flick down, catching the way your chest rises with each breath. When they return to yours, they’re darker. Hungrier.

“I was just giving a little performance,” he says. “You looked like you needed the reminder.”

You narrow your eyes. “Of what?”

He leans in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “What happens when I actually put my mouth on you.”

Your breath catches—right as a voice cuts through the hallway.

“Hyung! You’ve got five minutes ‘til the send-off!”

You both freeze. Hoseok pulls back with a tight breath, jaw clenching as he throws a nod over his shoulder. “Got it!”

Then his eyes settle back on you. “We’re not done.”

“Oh, I know.”

The energy between you crackles. Neither of you moves as a stylist swoops in to blot the sweat on his forehead, mumbling something about lighting. You barely hear it. Hoseok’s hand brushes your waist as he steps around you, not-so-accidentally dragging fingertips along your side before pulling away completely.

The send-off is a blur, fan signs and waves and cameras flashing. You follow at a distance, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s impossible. Every time he glances back, every time he smiles too wide or bites down on that lip, you feel it unraveling again.

And then you’re in the car.

The doors shut.

Silence.

He’s beside you, legs spread wide, chest still rising and falling too fast. The windows are tinted, the divider up. Just the two of you now.

You glance at him. He’s staring out the window like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just press you to the edge of combustion and walk away.

But his knee bumps yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then stays there.

He turns slowly, lips twitching. “I’m going live in ten.”

You nod, voice tight. “Mm. You better hurry. You look like someone who needs a little help calming down.”

He chuckles, deep and wrecked. “Baby, you’re the reason I’m like this.”

And you sit there, burning, limbs aching, the space between you electric and unbearable.

Neither of you touches.

Not yet.

But god—you both want to.

The hotel room is quiet when you walk in. Clean, modern, luxurious—but it barely registers.

Hoseok heads straight for the desk setup by the window, pulling out his phone and propping it up on a mini tripod. His makeup is barely touched up, hair still messy in that post-show, too-good-to-be-legal way. He mutters something about checking the Wi-Fi, tapping through settings with a frown.

You trail in slower, pretending to be unaffected, but you’re boiling.

And you want payback.

“You starting the live now?” you ask, voice light.

He glances back at you. “In a minute. Why?”

You shrug, toeing off your shoes. “Just wondering how long I have to behave.”

That gets his attention. His head tilts, a knowing smile twitching at his lips. “Don't start something you can't finish, baby.”

“Who says I won’t?”

He shakes his head, amused, and turns back to his phone, hitting the “go live” button before you can say more. The app lights up, comments immediately flooding in as the view count climbs.

“Hey guys,” he says, voice warm, tired but happy. “Just got back from the show. You guys were crazy tonight…”

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him talk. He’s glowing—soaked in adrenaline and affection, eyes scanning the screen like he’s genuinely soaking up every word. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You stand, slow and quiet, padding over to where he sits.

He notices. Barely. A flick of his eyes toward you, then back to the camera.

And then you straddle his lap.

He freezes.

It’s subtle—no one on the live can see—but you feel it. The sharp inhale. The tension in his thighs. The way his hands hover, unsure whether to push you off or pull you closer.

You drape your arms loosely around his shoulders, mouth close, almost right beside his ear. “Smile for the fans, Hobi.”

He shifts in the chair, clearly trying to look casual, but you’re sitting right on him—weight pressing into his hips. He clears his throat, waves at the screen.

“Yeah, so I’ll talk about the setlist in a sec,” he says, voice a pitch higher than before. “I just, uh…”

You roll your hips.

Slow. Torturous.

His breath catches audibly.

You suppress a grin.

His eyes dart to the screen, then to you. “Baby,” he warns, lips barely moving.

“Hmm?” You bat your lashes, kissing the shell of his ear.

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

His jaw clenches. The comments keep flying—fans asking why he’s blushing, if the room’s too warm, why he’s suddenly looking down every few seconds.

He tries to power through. Tries to focus. He starts talking about his favorite moment during “Just Dance,” but his voice keeps stuttering. His hands grip the edge of the chair so hard his knuckles go white.

You grind down again. Barely.

He mutters something in Korean under his breath.

Then he’s done.

“I—I’ll talk to you guys later,” he says, too fast. “I need to—rest. Yeah.”

He ends the live with a stiff wave, slamming his phone down the second the stream cuts.

Silence.

You lean in, innocent. “Everything okay, Hobi?”

He looks at you. And he snaps.

In one motion, he lifts you, flips you onto the bed, and crawls on top of you with a growl in his throat and murder in his eyes—sweet, delicious murder.

“You think that was funny?”

You grin, breathless already. “A little.”

He leans in, mouth brushing yours. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I don't think so.”

He hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head, breathing hard.

His eyes are wild—half disbelief, half dark amusement—and all of it aimed directly at you.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, low and dangerous.

You blink up at him, face the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you start it, Mr. ‘Let Me Finger the Air Like a Pornstar in Front of Thousands’?”

His nostrils flare. “That was performance. This—” he gestures between your bodies, hips brushing yours with almost-zero restraint, “—this is personal.”

“And?” you whisper, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, threading into his hair. “You gonna punish me or talk me to death?”

That does it.

He jerks back like your touch burns. Stands. Paces.

You watch from the bed, smug, legs still slightly spread from where he left you.

He’s trying to get it together. Chest rising and falling, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, jaw flexing like he’s biting back a thousand curses. He drags both hands down his face, then breathes out a laugh that sounds half-wrecked.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sit up slowly. Swing your legs over the side of the bed, take your sweet time walking up behind him. You press your chest against his back, let your fingers drift just under the waistband of his pants. Just a taste.

“Tell me to stop,” you murmur.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me you didn’t love every second of it.”

Still nothing.

You pull back just enough to tease, but he catches your wrist before you can fully retreat. Spins around, pulling you against him in a hard, unyielding grip.

“You want to play games?” he growls. “Fine. We’ll play.”

His hands drop to your hips, fingers digging in. He leans down, lips brushing yours—so close, but not touching.

“But you don’t get to win.”

Then—again—he lets go.

Backs away. Grabs a water bottle from the table and drinks like it’ll douse the fire in him. It won’t.

“You’re not gonna touch me?” you ask, head tilted just enough to be a challenge. Your pulse is thrumming in your neck, fast and furious, and he can see it—feels it.

Hoseok takes a slow sip from his water bottle, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, licking the last drop from his bottom lip, he smirks. “You’re not ready.”

Your brows lift, mocking. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he murmurs, voice low, cocky. “You’re not ready for what I’d do to you if I actually started touching you.”

You scoff, but the heat that coils in your belly betrays you instantly. Your thighs press together on instinct. God, you hate how right he might be.

But now—it’s about pride. About holding your ground. About not letting him win just because he knows exactly what buttons to press.

You cross your arms, eyes gleaming. “Coward.”

He tilts his head, tongue poking into his cheek as he smiles. Dangerous. Ferocious. “Keep talking, baby,” he warns, rising from the edge of the bed. “You’ll be flat on your back before you can blink.”

You raise a brow. “Big words for someone who rage-quit a livestream because he got hard on camera.”

He lunges.

You shriek, laughing, twisting, but he’s too quick. In a second, he’s got you pinned under him again, his hands bracketing your shoulders, his knee sliding between your legs like he owns the space there.

The smile on his face is feral—unchained. “You think you're funny, huh?” he growls, breath ghosting over your lips. “You think I won’t wreck you right now for that little stunt?”

You grin, wicked and bright. “Mmm, you like it nasty, babe?” you purr, fingers dancing up the line of his jaw. “Should’ve thought better before acting up on stage. That little finger trick?” You click your tongue. “You started it.”

He growls again—deep, from his chest, like you’ve touched something raw.

You lean up, give him a light kiss on the cheek. A tease. Nothing more. Then you start to wriggle out from under him. “I’m gonna go clean up. Make myself comfortable.”

You say it like a threat. And it is.

But the second you try to move, his arms tighten, locking you in place.

“Oh, hell no,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and walk away all smug, acting like you didn’t just hijack my entire f—” he swallows hard, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to rein it all back in. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

You laugh again, but it’s breathless this time—your own composure slipping. His body is hot, solid, and there, and every move he makes only pushes you deeper into the mattress.

Still, you raise your chin. “You can’t keep me here forever, Hobi.”

He dips down, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, that spot behind your ear that makes your knees go weak—even when you’re lying down.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice like velvet over a razor’s edge. “You think I’m the one losing control right now?”

Your stomach flips.

“Go on,” he adds, letting up just enough for you to slide out from under him. “Run off. Get comfortable. But when I’m done being nice—” his gaze drops, slow and hot—“you’ll be the one begging to stay in bed.”

And he flops back on the mattress, watching you walk away with hooded eyes and a smirk that promises vengeance.

You shut the bathroom door behind you, but not all the way.

Just enough for him to hear everything. Just enough for him to wonder if you left it ajar on purpose.

You flick on the light and catch your reflection in the mirror—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, pupils blown wide. You look wrecked already and he hasn’t even touched you properly. It’s power. It’s delicious.

And you’re going to make him feel every second of it.

You peel off your shirt with slow, deliberate movements, knowing he can hear the whisper of fabric, the creak of the floorboards, the soft clink of your necklace hitting the counter. You don’t say a word. Let his mind fill in the gaps.

You hear him shift in the bed. Restless.

Then the tap runs. You rinse your face, run your hands through your hair. Still quiet. Still calculated.

Then, when the silence gets too loud, you hum.

Soft and lazy. Just loud enough for it to carry.

“Hmmm,” you sigh to yourself, like you're very pleased with how things are going. Then: “This lingerie might be too much.”

You hear him curse.

You smile. God, you’re having so much fun.

And you keep going. “Or not enough.”

“Baby,” his voice comes through the door, already strained. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“Who’s fucking with you?” you chirp sweetly. “I’m just getting comfortable”

You pause. Let it sit. Let him stew in it.

Then, in a voice soaked in sugar: “You good out there?”

The bed creaks again. Louder this time. You imagine him pacing, or palming himself over those sweatpants he threw on in a rush, maybe thinking about how it felt when you sat in his lap before, shifting just so, how your scent’s probably still on his fingers. Still on his skin.

You press your thighs together and try to stay composed.

This is revenge. Sweet, slow-burning revenge. And you’re winning.

“If you want,” you murmur, voice light and laced with mischief, “I could show you what I picked out…”

Silence.

Then—bang.

A sharp thud against the wall. You can’t tell if it’s his fist or the dresser or his skull, but whatever it is, it sounds violent.

You bite back a smile, high on the power. Teasing him like this is too easy.

“Get out here,” he snarls. “Now.”

You scoff, amused. “You didn’t even say please.”

There’s no pause this time.

“I don’t fucking care. I’m tired.” His voice is raw—loud, dark, and fraying at the edges. You open the door fully and find him in the doorway already, like he couldn’t wait. His pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, one arm extended just far enough to touch the inside of your wrist.

His fingers curl around it.

Not rough, but firm. Insistent.

“You are coming with me,” he says, like it’s law. Like it’s a fact already written.

You stand there in his shirt and the smallest pair of shorts you packed—fabric clinging to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. He sees everything. The curve of your ass, the hint of lace at your hips, the smooth slope of your thighs still flushed from the game you started.

He swallows, jaw ticking.

“I was just making myself comfortable,” you say sweetly, and his grip tightens, thumb brushing the pulse at your wrist like it drives him mad.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he says, voice low and shaking. “Before I stop playing nice.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think this is nice?”

He steps closer.

You don’t move.

Now he’s right there—barely an inch between you. The heat off his skin is blistering. His other hand rises to cup your jaw, not quite touching, just hovering, like even that would be giving in too soon.

His eyes flick to your lips, your legs, the way your shirt rides up when you breathe.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he mutters. “A dream that’s trying to kill me.”

You smile, saccharine and smug. “Then maybe you should’ve thought twice before acting up on stage.”

You lean in—just a whisper of your lips against his cheek—and give him a kiss. Barely there. Just enough to ignite.

Then you turn like you’re about to leave again, heading back toward the bed or the bathroom or anywhere that isn’t him.

But his grip doesn’t let go.

He tugs. Not hard—but with purpose.

You stumble right into him, chest against his, thigh brushing the outline of his cock straining against the sweats he rushed to put on after the livestream.

He breathes hard through his nose, like he’s fighting for control.

You whisper against his neck, “You don’t look that tired to me.”

That’s it.

That’s the spark.

He doesn’t lunge, not yet—but his whole body tightens, like a predator held back by a thread. You can feel his fingers flexing against your waist, twitching like they’re seconds from dragging you down onto the floor.

But he won’t. Not until you beg.

God, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love this. What you had. What you were.

He was always all over you, and so were you—two magnets locked in a pull too strong to fight, too wild to tame. Every breath, every look, every fucking brush of skin felt like it was dipped in gasoline. And now?

Now it’s fire.

He walks you backward with slow, deliberate steps until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fall onto it with a soft gasp, and he’s right there, standing between your legs, looking down at you like he’s starving and you’re the feast he’s been denied for way too long.

“Still wanna play?” he asks, voice like gravel, hands clenched at his sides like it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to touch you.

You drag your gaze down his body—his flexing forearms, the twitch in his jaw, the tent in his sweats that looks painful. You smirk. “Are you gonna make me beg, Hoseok?”

His name on your lips does something to him. His eyes darken, and this time when he leans in, it’s not careful. It’s reckless.

He grabs your thighs and yanks you to the edge of the bed so fast you yelp, hands catching on his shoulders. Then his mouth is on your neck—hot and open and claiming—and your whole body arches off the mattress.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growls against your skin. “With that mouth. With that attitude. With those fucking shorts—”

“You like the shorts?” you pant, tugging on his hair until he groans.

“I hate the shorts,” he snarls, licking down to your collarbone, tongue filthy. “I hate that you wore them when you knew I’d see. I hate that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You gasp as he nips at your chest through the fabric of your shirt, his hands sliding up under it, rough and eager, palms mapping your ribs like he’s trying to remember what you feel like under pressure.

“I always know what I’m doing,” you whisper.

“Then you knew I wouldn’t last.” He pulls back just long enough to strip the shirt off your body, fast and clumsy, like it offended him just by existing. His eyes rake over you—half-naked, flushed, breathing heavy, legs spread for him—and he snaps.

In a heartbeat, he’s crawling over you, hips grinding into yours, his mouth everywhere—your jaw, your throat, your chest—until you’re gasping his name, your hands clawing at his back, your thighs locking around his waist like he’s the only thing tethering you to earth.

“You wanna beg now, baby?” he huffs against your lips, breathless.

You roll your hips against him and watch his whole body jolt.

“You’re gonna beg first,” you whisper. “For making me wait.”

And just like that, you flip him—straddle him. His back hits the mattress with a thud, and he looks up at you like he’s already ruined.

You settle your weight on his lap and smile down at him, wicked and wild.

“Let’s see who really breaks first.”

He doesn’t answer with words.

His hands shoot up to grip your waist, knuckles white, muscles flexing like restraint is no longer an option—and maybe it never was. Not when it comes to you. Not when you’re sitting on top of him like this, all flushed and smug and soaked in sweat and attitude.

You grind down once—slow and hard—and he chokes.

“Oh, fuck—” His hips buck up into yours, involuntary, brutal, and you ride it, gasping as your core drags against the thick length straining beneath those damn sweatpants.

That’s it. That’s the snap.

One second, the air between you is strung tight with tension, and the next, he’s moving—sitting up fast, eyes wild, grabbing you like he’s been holding back for hours and just broke. One arm hooks around your back, the other fists in your hair, yanking you into him, crashing his mouth against yours again like he’s starving for it.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision.

Tongues clash, teeth graze, breaths tangle. It's messy and urgent, raw with need. He groans deep in his chest like the taste of you is dragging him under, like he's unraveling at the seams just from this, just from you, and you moan right back, clutching at him like he’s your last tether to the world.

“You feel what you do to me?” he growls, voice thick with hunger, biting down on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You’ve been fucking dripping all night.”

“So touch me,” you pant, grinding against him without shame, chasing friction, chasing anything. “Make me feel it.”

And he does. God, does he.

You’re flipped without warning again, like you weigh nothing in his hands. The room blurs for a heartbeat and then your back hits the bed, his weight caging you in, devouring every inch of you with his eyes. He rips your shorts down like they personally offended him, tossing them aside without a glance.

Then he sees the soaked spot on your panties and something snaps behind his eyes.

A low, guttural growl vibrates through his chest. “Fuck.”

He runs a finger right over it—barely there, just a tease—and you gasp, hips bucking up into the touch. He smirks, dark and dangerous, before shoving the fabric aside and diving in like a man possessed.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Two fingers slam into you, deep and fast, and your back arches off the bed as a cry tears from your throat.

“Already so fucking tight,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his eyes fixed on the way your body clenches around him. He curls his fingers just right and thrusts again, harder this time, deeper, and your legs start to shake.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

You can’t speak. You can barely breathe. All you can do is nod helplessly, whimpering, your nails digging into his arm as your other hand twists in the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

Each thrust is punishing, each curl devastating, each drag of his fingers designed to destroy you. Your whole body is shaking, every muscle drawn tight, the edge so close it feels like you could fall over it with a single breath.

“Hoseok—fuck, I—”

“Not yet.”

He rips his fingers away, and you scream in frustration, hips bucking into nothing, walls fluttering around the absence like you’ve been ripped open and left begging.

“I said—”

But the words vanish from your mouth because suddenly—God—his mouth is right there.

No warning. No buildup. Just heat and tongue and wicked, wicked lips wrapping around your clit like a death sentence.

He moans into you, arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place while he ruins you with his mouth.

“You—fuck, I—”

He glances up, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with sin. He smirks like he knows. Like he planned this.

And then he says, low and lethal, “Don’t come until I say so.”

Like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to see you fall apart trying not to.

And oh, you will.

Oh, you unleash.

It’s not graceful. It’s not sweet. It’s carnal.

You shatter—loud, writhing, wrecked. A cry bursts from your throat, raw and ragged, echoing off the walls like a confession. Your voice breaks into a hoarse moan, half his name, half a curse, and entirely surrender.

And he watches—fuck, he watches like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

That wicked smile curves across his lips, dark and triumphant. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. His mouth is right there, relentless, greedy, like he’s trying to consume every last tremor from your body. His tongue flicks, circles, presses, and it’s too much—too much heat, too much pleasure, too much him.

Then his hand slides up—slow, smooth, terrifying in how in control he still is—and wraps lightly around your throat.

Not tight. Just enough.

Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make you feel it—that loss of air, that vulnerability, that heady spike of something deeper.

His lips drag down, kissing the inside of your thigh with reverence, then right back up, mouth sealing over your clit like he’s praying with his tongue.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, reverent. “So fucking perfect when you come.”

Your body jerks beneath him, aftershocks ripping through you, legs trembling like you’ve run miles. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you see the way he’s looking at you—like you’re something holy and ruined all at once.

“Could watch you fall apart like that forever,” he growls, licking a long, slow stripe through your slick. “Could live between your thighs and never need another damn thing.”

You whimper, mind fogged and limbs useless, but he’s not done.

He shifts up, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, while his hand keeps its gentle pressure at your throat. Not to hurt. Just to hold. Just to remind you: he’s the one doing this.

“You think that was it?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours as he grinds his hips down, the hard line of him pressing against you. “I haven’t even started.”

Even in the haze—numb, trembling, boneless from the high—you move.

You fight for it.

Still shaking, still gasping, you claw your way onto him like instinct, like something primal and desperate has taken hold. There's no grace, no finesse—just raw need, coursing through you like lightning. You straddle him, hips grinding down, rutting shamelessly against the thick heat straining beneath his clothes.

You’re a mess. A beautiful, wrecked mess.

Mouth parted, chest heaving, hair clinging to your sweat-slicked skin. You can barely breathe, barely think, but all your body knows is him.

“Please…” you gasp, voice breaking on a moan as you roll your hips again. “Please, baby… fuck… want ya—want ya so bad.”

The words come out slurred with lust, almost incomprehensible, like you're drunk on him. And maybe you are.

He watches you like he’s in a trance, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark—burning. Like he’s holding on to every last shred of control and losing.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you whimper, grinding down harder, chasing friction, chasing everything. “Want your cock, baby—need it. Need you in me.”

That’s what shatters him.

He flips you again—ruthless, fast. Your back hits the bed and he’s already there, caging you in with his body, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself.

You both moan when he ruts against your core, right there, the heat of him dragging over the slick fabric.

“God, you’re filthy,” he groans “You’re gonna take every inch. Gonna feel me for days.”

You spread your legs wider, shameless and soaked, begging with your body.

“So take me,” you cry, voice breaking as your nails drag down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. “Fuck me.”

God, you love this man.

Love how filthy you both are—how raw, how real. How there’s nothing between you but heat and skin and the kind of need that burns straight through the bones.

He groans at your words, at the way your body arches into his, shameless and pleading. His cock is right there, so close, the head dragging through your slick, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness.

You whine, desperate, hips lifting to chase him, to take him, but he holds steady—just to watch you fall apart a little more. Just to feel your hunger for him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent, dangerous. “Can’t even wait a second, can you?”

You shake your head, lips parted, breath catching. “I need you,” you gasp. “Please, just—just fuck me already.”

And then—blissful mercy—he gives in.

He pushes in slow, the thick head of his cock breaching you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, a broken moan spilling out as your eyes flutter shut.

Then he bottoms out in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

Your world ends.

Your eyes roll back, your entire body going limp beneath him, mouth slack, breath stolen. You feel everything—the stretch, the pressure, the way he fits like he was made for you.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours, barely holding himself back. “You feel unreal. So tight, so fucking wet for me.”

You can’t even respond. Just whimper, legs wrapping around his waist like instinct, like you never want him to leave.

He pulls out slow, just enough to feel the drag, then thrusts back in with a snap of his hips that knocks the air from your lungs.

You gasp, moan, claw at his back again. “Yes, yes—just like that—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

He pounds into you with a rhythm that’s all hunger and devotion, head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

And all you can think—through the pleasure, the gasps, the sting of nails and the slap of skin—is how much you fucking love this.

How much you fucking love him.

The thing about Hoseok is… he’s an artist, yeah. But first? He’s a dancer.

And those goddamn hips know exactly what they’re doing.

You know better than anyone.

You’ve felt it—in the way he moves against you, inside you, like his body was choreographed to yours. Every roll of his hips is a masterstroke, every thrust precise, powerful, devastating. He hits that spot again and again, like he mapped it out, like he studied it, like he's spent hours—years—perfecting the rhythm that makes you scream his name.

And you do.

You chant it, breathless and wrecked, nails digging into his back like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth.

“Hoseok—fuck, right there, baby, right there—”

He groans into your neck, hips grinding deeper, slower for a second, just to make you feel the drag of him inside you. Just to show you who’s in control.

“You feel me?” he growls, teeth dragging over the curve of your throat, his voice a rasp in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of me.”

And you do.

You take everything. Every inch, every thrust, every filthy word he feeds into your skin like sin-soaked poetry. Your body matches his like instinct, like choreography written in lust and obsession. This is more than sex—it’s a rhythm, a performance, a fucking ritual.

“You’re my filthy princess,” he pants, hips snapping against yours, the sound obscene, slick, perfect. “You know why I did that shit on stage, babe?”

You blink through the haze, barely able to speak, to breathe.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear, thrusts never faltering, never softening. “I did it ‘cause I was thinking of you.”

Your heart stutters. Your pussy clenches around him.

His voice darkens, sweet with venom. “Thought about you the night before that concert… pressed up against the wall, legs shaking, those pretty little moans spilling out while I had my fingers inside you. Remember that?”

You nod frantically, mind flashing with the memory—his hand, your helplessness, the way you came with your mouth against his shoulder to muffle the scream.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you begged,” he grins, feral, breath hitching as your walls flutter around him. “‘Oh baby,’” he mocks you in a breathy whimper, falsetto, sinful. “‘I’m your filthy fucking bitch…’”

Your whole body seizes. Shame and heat twist together like a fuse sparking to life.

He laughs—low and wicked, full of pride. “And all I could think was: that’s mine. That girl up front, lookin’ all sweet, all put-together?”

His hips drive harder, deeper—he’s pounding into you now, chasing the sound of your cries, the clench of your cunt.

“She’s the same one who gets on her knees like a whore for me.”

You whimper, head thrown back, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s you, baby,” he says, voice all gravel and affection, eyes blazing. “My pretty girl, my nasty little thing. The one who smiles for the cameras, then bends over the second I lock the door.”

Your entire body is trembling. You don’t know if it’s the pace or the filth or the way he’s looking at you like he’s obsessed—but you're close, again, helpless to stop it.

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, cocky and tender all at once. “Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the fuck out of me?”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, Hoseok—”

“Come,” he growls, voice raw, deep, commanding. “Come for me, my beautiful princess—my filthy fucking whore.”

That’s it. That’s the snap.

You shatter.

Your entire body goes taut, every muscle pulling tight before releasing in one violent, uncontrollable wave. Your legs shake around him, trembling so hard it’s like your bones have melted. Your mouth opens on a scream, but it barely makes it out—just a broken, choked moan that dies in your throat as your vision whites out.

You cling to him, hands clawing at his back like you need something—anything—to anchor you. But he’s not slowing down. If anything, he’s driving it deeper, dragging your orgasm out until it borders on unbearable.

And then—your body gives.

A gush of wetness spills between you, soaking his cock, the sheets, your thighs. You gasp, humiliated and feral all at once, trying to pull away—but he growls low, hands gripping your hips, holding you there.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, staring down where your bodies are joined. “That’s it, baby. Look at that. Look at the mess you just made for me.”

You’re still twitching, body jerking with aftershocks, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. But Hoseok—he looks like a man possessed.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” he breathes, dragging his cock out just enough to watch more of your release drip out, then sliding right back in with a groan. “So wet, so ruined, so fucking mine.”

You whimper beneath him, wrecked and pliant, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t… I—I already…”

“You can,” he growls, eyes blazing as he locks gazes with you. “And you will. I’m not done with you yet.”

He kisses you then—deep and claiming, like he’s sealing something between you with tongue and teeth and breath.

And all you can do is moan into it, broken and breathless, because despite everything— You want it. You want him.

You’re still trembling, your body a live wire of oversensitivity and bliss, when he starts moving again—slow at first, but no less intense. Like he’s savoring the afterglow, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of him, every pulse and push and stretch.

“You’re unreal,” Hoseok mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and hunger. “You came so hard for me. Fuck, baby… you squirted for me.”

Your cheeks burn, your lips part to apologize, but he cuts you off with another deep thrust that makes your back arch, a whimper catching in your throat.

“Don’t even try,” he growls, pinning your hips down. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

He’s drunk on you now—high on the mess, the heat, the way your body is still fluttering around him. He dips his head to kiss down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging his tongue along your skin as if trying to taste the orgasm still clinging to you.

And you… you’re floating.

You can’t even form words. Just sounds. Moans and gasps and breathy little pleas as he rocks into you, deeper now, slower, rolling his hips with maddening precision.

“Still so tight,” he whispers, voice ragged. “You feel that? The way your pussy’s still trying to milk me?”

You nod weakly, eyes glassy, mouth open on a silent gasp when he hits that spot again, perfectly, like he knows.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “All soft. Fucked-out. Shaking. You’re so fucking pretty when you come.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your clit, and your whole body jolts.

“N-No—too much—”

“I know, baby,” he coos, still fucking you through it. “I know. Just one more. One more for me, yeah?”

You sob his name, overwhelmed, but you don’t tell him no. Because you don’t want it to stop. Not yet. Not when it feels like this. Not when his body is still moving against yours like a symphony only you get to hear.

You lock your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him there. And he groans—low, guttural, broken.

“Oh fuck—fuck, baby—”

He’s close. You can feel it.

The rhythm starts to slip, his thrusts getting rougher, faster. The weight of him, the sound of your soaked skin meeting his, the filthy praise falling from his lips—it’s all building again, dizzying, consuming.

And right before the fall, right when everything goes blinding and hot—he looks at you. Really looks at you.

And he says it.

“Come with me.”

And you do.

Together.

Hard, loud, beautiful.

The high fades like smoke—slow, warm, lingering—but the after? The after is where it all settles. Where the heat gives way to something softer, deeper, realer.

You’re both breathless, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and slick, bodies still twitching from the aftershocks. Hoseok collapses gently onto you, careful not to crush you, just enough to feel your heartbeat slam against his.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the sound of your breathing, still uneven and shaky. The way his hand finds yours, fingers lacing like it’s instinct.

Then, a laugh. Small, hoarse. Yours.

He lifts his head slightly, his forehead still resting on yours, brows furrowed in amused concern. “What?”

You grin, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughs too, deep and wrecked, kissing your forehead like he’s proud of that. “You weren’t supposed to. That was kinda the point.”

You try to nudge him with your knee, but it twitches uselessly and flops against the mattress. That just makes him laugh harder.

“I broke you,” he teases, clearly delighted with himself. “My poor baby.”

He kisses you again, this time slower, sweeter. Like a thank-you. Like a promise. Like he means it.

Then he starts pulling away to grab something—a towel, maybe—but you clutch at him with a tiny, panicked sound. “No—don’t go.”

He freezes. Looks down at you. And something in his face melts.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says gently, crawling right back over you, arms wrapping around your waist to roll you both onto your sides. “Not now. Not ever.”

You bury your face in his neck, letting your body relax completely into him. His scent, his warmth, the thrum of his pulse under your fingertips—it’s all enough to lull you into the sweetest kind of daze.

His thumb strokes your hip lazily. “You really are my filthy little princess, huh?”

You mumble something incoherent against his throat.

He chuckles. “What was that?”

“I said,” you sigh, half-asleep already, “your filthy queen, actually.”

He grins like you’ve just given him the world. “Damn right.”

Then he kisses your shoulder, one hand trailing up your spine, the other pulling the sheets around both of you.

"I love you, babe"

And just like that—you’re safe. Wrecked. Loved. Held.

The morning comes slow, gentle, a hazy stretch of sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds, casting soft lines across tangled sheets and bare limbs.

You wake first—barely. Just enough to feel the stiffness in your muscles, the warm ache between your thighs, and the delicious weight of an arm slung over your waist. Hoseok’s chest is pressed to your back, his breath soft and warm against your shoulder, one leg tucked between yours like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away, even in sleep.

You hum quietly, nuzzling into the pillow with a sleepy smile. Everything smells like him—sweat, skin, sex, and that faint hint of his cologne that somehow survived the chaos of last night.

You don't want to move. Ever.

But a groggy groan rumbles behind you.

“Fuck.”

You shift slightly. “What time is it?”

There’s a pause. Then another groan, this one full of regret. “Eight-thirty.”

You blink. “…AM?”

He flops onto his back dramatically, arm flung over his eyes like he’s auditioning for a tragedy. “I have to be at soundcheck in three hours. My body feels like it got run over by a truck.”

You snort, rolling onto your side to face him. His hair’s a mess, lips puffy, eyes still half-closed and pouting like a grumpy cat.

“Wonder why that is,” you tease, trailing your fingers over the fresh nail marks on his chest.

He squints at you from under his arm. “You did this. You and your pretty little ‘Please, baby, fuck me so good’ voice.”

You fake a gasp. “I never—”

He mimics you, pitch high and breathy, “‘Oh Hobi, I’m your filthy fuckin’ bitch—’”

You throw a pillow at his face. He catches it with one hand and groans again, flopping back down.

“…I deserve that,” he mumbles. Then, with sudden, dramatic anguish: “God, I’m so tired. My legs are jello. I have choreo in nine hours.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway. “You broke me last night. This is just karma.”

“I’m never going that hard the night before a show again,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

You kiss his cheek gently. “Liar.”

He sighs, lips curling into a crooked little smile. “Yeah. I’m totally gonna do it again.”

You both lie there for another few moments, the calm creeping back in, the kind that only comes with mornings like this. The silence is soft. Easy. Safe.

Then he cracks one eye open again, already plotting. “Okay. Hear me out. If I nap in the car and stretch in the dressing room, I might survive tonight.”

You grin. “I’ll be in the front row. Screaming my head off. Still limping.”

He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Bet.”

note: girl, i wrote this in like 3 hours instead of my actual thesis hshshs hope you guys liked it <3

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Meaty Post Since It's All You're Getting for a Bit

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

*** This blog will be on mini hiatus for most of May 2025. Not dead just busy. You'll be fine without me. Don't burn down this hellsite anymore than normal while I'm away.

April 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 1-2 of 10 - Mflow's latest high heat office romance involves best friend's younger brother, boss meets intern, bit of a love triangle, GL crumbs, and few other tropes.

It's... raunchy.  And it's giving me Deep Night vibrations. So to speak. Similarly cringe but still fun to have on our screen. I don't mind a "teach me daddy" trope. The leads are serving up BossNoeul in LITA and the other pairs seem decent too. It’s messy gay but it’s low stakes high melodrama soap opera messy gay so I guess I'm okay with that style. Shall we call this "sloppy gay"?

I'm not mad about it.  

The BangkokBoy (Thai Sat Gaga) ep 1 of 12 - Action, crime, and revenge meets gangs, street fights, mafia, and more. Oh my. Intriguing premise. Not a bad beginning in terms of acting and family strife set-up. The terrible dubbing is sending me. The terrible fight scenes are sending me even further. They better give us some BL within the next two episodes or I don’t know if I can take this level try-hard.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - I am so happy to have Jimmy back on my screen. I can’t even tell you. No additional thoughts, only Jimmy in glasses.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 6 of 10 - this time I reminded myself going in that this is based on Japanese IP. But I still couldn't take it. I fast-forwarded through most of this ep. I knew it was coming but I still couldn’t stomach it.

Akin better get everything tested. And some counseling.

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 1-2 of 12 - Our only true high school BL from GMMTV this year and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. I want to like this (and be surprised by it) as much as My School President in 2023 but so far that is definitely not the case. I do love the teachers (shocker) and I like the sides but I’m not sold on the main couple. With a kiss already in ep 2 the pacing is off. If this were Japan I would 't be worried, but this is GMMTV messing with the formula and that could be rough for all of us.

Side note... how does Papong look so daddy in Not Me and do damn ingenue here? Best chameleon in GMMTV's stable? I think so. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 9-10 end - omg they are ridiculously cute dancing round each other. Please just kiss! Bah, this did take too long to resolve. I was worried about that.

The people (aka me) want more BL in our BL! Rah rah rah.

I also wanted more Heesu advising others and less of the hets hetting about the place. Sad we got not kiss but also no time to develop it.

Conclusion

What started out with a great core concept (KBL version of Sex Education) rather lost its way getting mired in the slowest of slow burns which effectively turned the BL storyline into a sub plot for multiple het dramas should have just added flavor. The acting was sweet all round, and sincere, and the lead character of Heesu very engaging. There was even some chemistry with his love interest, rare from Korea. The extra length (so rare in KBL) turned out to be just enough for them to hang themselves with. Should we be shocked that Korea didn't have enough faith in the queer romance thread? No, but I had hoped for better. This was almost great but missed the mark by simply not being gay enough. 7/10 

I will add the handling of the coming out sequence was... deft.

I think I need to go rewatch Light On Me.

Business as Usual (Korea Thurs Viki) Ep 4 of 6 - Gah this is so sad. They like each other so much and made such stupid mistakes! i guess Jin Hwan won't let it stick? Honestly I'm kinda glad this is a short one.

Something Is Not Right (Korea Weds Viki) ep 2 of 8 - The library scene made me laugh.  Every single on of them is such a drama queen. It's awfully angsty but i like it. 

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 6 of 12 - Oh this is getting kinda good. That fantasy was lovely. The rest of the story is rough. But the chemistry is great.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 12 end - Pretty much just a wrap up episode with lots of sex and a double wedding (never a good idea). But all of it was very pretty. 

Summary 

Taiwan gave us this weird premise of funeral home + mafia + secrets, yet somehow no excitement or real tension because they then slapped it with a pathetic excuse for a plot. Everybody in it was pretty, but the chemistry really wasn’t what I’ve grown to expect from Taiwan. The suits were nice, i guess? Ultimately, given the initial concept, this is remarkably forgettable. 6/10 

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2.

Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks so bad.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) 12 eps - dropped at ep 5. Recent thought process as follows: Oh, I think I would have loved this if it were OffGun.

What a thing for me to think.

Still, I'm not wrong.

The Rewatch BLigade!

Jazz for 2. I wasn't sure about this when it aired and I'm still not sure about it. I think I like it. But how much do I like it?

Cherry Magic Thailand. Still very enjoyable but there are more slow and lagging episodes than I remember. Lots of fast forwarding through the slow bits. But TayNew still deliver like only they can. Now I kinda wanna do a Deep Blue Kiss rewatch.

Wandee Goodday. I fast forwarded through everything that wasn't YakDee on screen together. Solid choice. I love them so much, and I suspect they might be the healthiest sexual relationship we have ever seen depicted in a BL. (On Viki these days)

Unintentional Love Story. Yeah a regular rewatch for me. I put it on to check something, and then just ended up running through the whole series. Will I ever recover from Gongchan's eyes? Not in this lifetime.

Your Sky. Yeah I finished the 3 ep special and then immediately rewatched the whole darn show. This is my 3rd or 4th time. I love it, totally my type of so bad it's good, so sweet it hurts, BL pulp. I don't ask for much from my BL. This show gave me exactly that much and no more.

Mr X & I - Us Against The World. One of those obscure shorts I love, this one from China pre 2016 crack down. Yep. Still love.

I'll be doing a ton of rewatching over the next month because of all my travel. Wish me luck!

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming in May

5/2 Pit Babe The Series 2 (Thai Fri iQIYI) 13 eps - More conspiracy and struggles and past coming out to play but even less omegaverse.

5/3 The Next Prince (Thai Sat iQIYI) 14 eps - Hotly anticipated 3 yr production featuring ZeeNewNu in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince fighting for his right it inherit. Plus Jimmy with a new partner. Should be pretty and hot if nothing else.

5/16 Knockout (Thai Fri WeTV ) 12 eps - A low quality less fun/funny version of Wandee Goodday?

5/19 I Promise I Will Come Back (Thai Mon WeTV) 10 eps - A Thai Taiwanese colab. Stars two Thai actors and Taiwanese identical twins from H3. However the lead and co-producer Tontae is actually a very good actor, so this could be good unless it's oen of those mostly intended to be a tourism advert for the Thai countryside. We shall see!

5/16 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) 12 eps - I admit I wasn't sold on this one from the trailer but Saint is back and I'm disposed to be intrigued by the kind of script that would pull hm in. But it is certainly not my kind of script.

May? Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked, must we?

May ? Sweetheart Service (Korea Gaga) - Strongberry is back with a fake dating trope?! After being pressured by his family to get married, Min U proposes to Yu Ha to pretend to be his fiancé. As they spend time together, feelings begin to develop between them.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Lap sit kiss teaching sesh with this boy you kinda hate who is now also kinda your boss... sure, why not?

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part X

Word count: 10,825 Warnings: Language, violence, blood/injury, victim blaming, self-deprecation, fictional racism, discussion of past abuse, temporary death  Summary: After an unwise decision, Tango and Jimmy find themselves in Hels, at odds, and up against an old foe seeking revenge. But as everything comes to a boil, Tango realizes he must finally confront his past if he has any hope of saving his future.

A/N: Hey y’all, thanks so much for ur patience. Didn’t mean for this to take so long, I’ve been dealing w some health issues, but I’m doing way better now and on break from school so here we are. I hope u enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part X - no ‘who cares,’ no vacant stares, no time for me 

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player stares at his soulmate in shock.

Tango could’ve sworn Jimmy was asleep. He checked, he checked multiple times to make sure Jimmy was well and truly unconscious before slipping out of bed. And he’d been so careful about it, moving so slowly and quietly to ensure Jimmy wasn’t woken up. All he’d needed was for Jimmy to keep sleeping for not even five minutes- just long enough for Tango to sneak downstairs, grab the supplies he’d secretly prepared earlier, go through the portal, and break it from the other side.

Yet here they are.

The abrupt silence after their mutual outburst is blanching. There’s almost a static feeling to it, like electricity gathering in the air before a lightning strike. All of Tango’s previous thoughts have flown clean out of his brain. He can only stare at Jimmy, forehead stinging, mouth slightly parted as he struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Jimmy looks similarly disoriented. He sits in a heap in front of the portal, bathed in the green-yellow-red light, his wings splayed out around him. His nose is scrunched up- still wincing from the pain of Tango’s forehead smacking into his chin, most likely. The recently-obtained scar across the newly-formed bump on the bridge of his nose stands out in sharp contrast against his other, more familiar, features. He said it didn’t bother him, but Tango feels a stab of guilt every time he looks at it. Even now, it’s a reminder of the pain Tango’s brought him. Of how Tango’s failed him.

Jimmy recovers first.

“What am I- what are you doin’ here?!” he cries, rising to his feet. 

Realization dawns on Tango as he finally grasps the reality of this impossible scenario he’s found himself in.

Jimmy’s here. In Hels. Jimmy is in Hels. Jimmy is in Hels. Oh. Oh no, oh that’s the opposite of what Tango wants. This is bad. This is really, really bad. This is a whole heap of bad with extra badness on top. Jimmy can’t be in Hels, he should never be in Hels.

“Tango,” Jimmy presses, taking a step forward, “are you listenin’ to me?”

Tango jumps to his feet, heart pounding. He quickly scans their surroundings- still no players to be seen, though some of those magma cubes in the distance are getting close. He knows they’re on borrowed time; there’s at least two players in this world who are bound to notice his arrival in chat, and the clock’s ticking.

“Tango?” Jimmy says again, uncertainty leaking into his voice. “You alright?”

Adrenaline floods Tango’s body. He feels hyper aware, like all his senses are in overdrive- his skin is prickling with heat, and if it weren’t for the wither rose collar, he’s certain his blaze rods would be swirling around in a defensive inferno.

He needs to get Jimmy out of here.

Despite their difference in height, Tango’s strong enough that he could probably push Jimmy back into the portal. He’d have the element of surprise, initially. But Jimmy’s build isn’t just for show- Tango would have a hard time keeping him in the portal for the few crucial seconds required to teleport. He might even get teleported back, himself. 

So instead of attempting brute force, Tango stalks forward- though not close enough to be grabbed- flattens his ears, bares his teeth, and hisses.

“Go home,” Tango hisses lowly. “Right. Now.”

That seems to take Jimmy aback. He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Ex-cuse me?” he demands, putting his hands on his hips. “Now, hang on-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Tango interrupts, his voice catching somewhere between anger and desperation. “This is-”

“You shouldn’t be here! What-”

“You’re not safe here-”

“- tryin’ to- well, neither are you!”

“- and you need to go back!”

“I’m not goin’ back without you!” Jimmy gives up on trying to keep his voice down, wings flaring out in agitation. “I thought we were in this together! I- god, Tango, we want to help you, we all just wanna help-”

“It’s not your problem!” Tango snaps, his temper rising. “Alright? It was my mistake that brought Bravo and Hels Tek to our door, you- why should you have to deal with it? What, just ‘cause we got randomly assigned to be soulmates? You didn’t sign up for all this!”

Jimmy’s expression darkens. “Yes, I did, that’s what it means to be a partner.” He reaches for Tango’s arm. “Tango, I love you-”

“I know!” Tango jerks away. “I know that, okay? But you- did it ever occur to you that maybe I love you, too? Maybe I don’t want you to put yourself at risk fighting my battles for me? Because I love you?” He rakes his claws through his hair, a mirthless laugh escaping him. “Is that- did that happen to cross your mind? That maybe for once I- I did something ‘cause I love you and not ‘cause I hate myself? Maybe I could do the selfless act of love every now and then? I mean, is that- is that so hard to believe?”

Jimmy stares at him for a moment, brown eyes blown wide. Even in the absence of their soulbond, Tango can tell he’s hurt. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Jimmy says finally, voice quiet. “I know you love me. Of course I know you love me. But Tango, honestly- can you honestly tell me that this decision wasn’t- that- that it had absolutely nothing to do with feelin’ like you deserve to be here?” he asks desperately. “No influence on your decision at all? Not a- a single part of you that thinks it’d be okay if you got trapped here again, suffering forever? Not even the slightest bit?”

Shit.

Tango sets his jaw. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Jimmy repeats, disbelieving. “Of course it does-”

“No, I don’t- you need to leave!”

“I’m not leavin’ you, I mean it!”

“I already told you, I don’t want-”

“Tango, please.” Jimmy holds out his hand. He looks close to tears. “Let’s go home. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Tango swallows back a frustrated whine; he doesn’t have time for this. Atlas has no doubt already noticed his arrival, and he still needs to find Bravo. And the longer they stand here loudly arguing in front of an active portal, the greater the risk of discovery. It’s already a miraculous stroke of luck that the portal spawned in an uninhabited area.

Jimmy can’t force Tango back through the portal any more than Tango can force him. Besides, starting a physical fight with Jimmy would probably be his breaking point. This is hard enough already. He spends a precious second to take in Jimmy’s face; the thin line his mouth has pressed into, the tears brimming in his eyes, the scar across his crooked nose.

Then Tango turns on his heel and sprints away.

It’s a last-ditch effort kind of gambit. He’s hoping that if he loses Jimmy in the basalt delta, Jimmy won’t know what else to do but go back through the portal for help. And once he does, Tango can swoop in and break it. Problem solved.

There’s a surprised shout behind him. Wing beats fill the air as Jimmy takes flight. But Tango’s head start has already allowed him to reach the first outcropping of basalt, pock-marked with pools of lava. Without breaking stride, he leaps up onto the ledge of stone-

Only for his foot to catch on a tripwire.

Pistons go off while he’s still mid-jump. The ground opens up into a black pit beneath him. His claws scrape uselessly against the lip of basalt and suddenly he’s falling, stomach lurching, too shocked to even call out as wind whistles by his ears and he plummets into the darkness below, Jimmy’s voice screaming after him.

“Tango!”

Traps. He forgot to look for traps.

Weightless, Tango struggles to right himself. The hole is pitch black and it’s disorienting, wavering light from his dim blaze rods flickering against the walls. His mind races frantically. Even if he could pull a block from his inventory and place it down under him- and he’s not sure that he could, at the speed he’s falling- the damage would kill him anyways. No, better to see how this ends. If he’s dumb enough to fall for a trap, he should at least give it the satisfaction of killing him as intended.

Although, Tango’s been falling for more than a couple seconds and he hasn’t hit anything yet. That’s unusual. Few trappers care to dig holes this deep when a shallow pit of lava will have the same result. Maybe death isn’t the goal here. Maybe-

Light, somewhere down below. As it gets closer, Tango thinks he can see the walls of the hole open up into a larger room. But the bottom still goes down- into a pit of cobwebs. So that’s it. The trap was designed to capture players, not kill them. But why-

“Tango!”

Jimmy’s voice echoes wildly in the tunnel. Tango glances back over his shoulder to see Jimmy diving towards him, arms stretched forward and wings flattened, body straight as an arrow. 

Tango doesn’t currently have the breath to call out to him. If he did, it’d probably be something along the lines of, ‘No no no no no, why did you follow me, you idiot!’ and that wouldn’t be very constructive.

Jimmy hooks his arms underneath Tango’s, snaps his wings out, and takes them sailing out through the gap in the tunnel.

The abrupt swerve makes Tango’s stomach drop. Jimmy barely manages to avoid taking them directly into a wall, wings flaring, wind whipping around them. They tumble into an ungraceful- but not deadly- landing, tangled up in a pile of limbs.

The room they’ve flown into is large but rather crude, carved out of the netherrack and deepslate that make up the deepest levels of Hels- more of a cavern, really. A few scattered torches along the walls provide the room’s only lighting, and they’ve landed among a collection of haphazardly-placed chests- a chest monster to rival Scar’s. The center of the room is occupied by the hole at the bottom of the dropchute. Beyond it is something that makes Tango’s blood run cold.

Half of the room is covered in elaborate redstone circuitry, feeding into an empty portal frame. It’s an eerily similar setup to their own portal, and Tango is at once certain he knows who this base belongs to.

He processes this all in the couple seconds it takes him to get on his feet. Jimmy’s still crumpled beside him, uninjured but disoriented. Shit. He hadn’t planned to have Jimmy with him for this confrontation and it has him on edge, his skin crawling. The room’s empty right now, but he can’t see another way out except back up through the dropchute- it’s a precarious place to be in. He doesn’t like what being backed into a corner does to him.

“Ugh,” Jimmy groans softly, pushing himself upright. “Not one’a my better landin’s…”

“Shh,” Tango hisses.

Jimmy frowns at him, rising to his feet. “Tango, can you just-”

“Quiet!” Tango urges, gaze flicking around the room. Their sudden presence doesn’t seem to have set off any alarms, but there’s no telling what the trap was hooked up to-

Ca-clunk.

Tango’s ears prick at the sound of more pistons. He whirls around, hackles rising, to see part of the adjacent wall open up.

“Well,” Bravo says, stepping into the room, “isn’t this convenient?”

Tango had been mentally preparing himself to see his doppelgänger again, but he’s still taken aback at the state Bravo’s in. His hair and clothes are wild and unkempt, the stains on his shirt indistinguishable between redstone and blood. There’s a weariness about him, like he hasn’t slept in days, yet every muscle in his body is tense, his bruised knuckles gripping a netherite sword. Most striking, however, is his face; his green eyes are so bloodshot they’re almost red, and heavily lined with dark circles that- in a bizarre way- resemble wither stains.

So for a moment, it’s like Tango’s looking in a mirror.

It passes quickly. Tango forces the tension from his body, holding up his hands. “Take it easy, alright, I just wanna talk.”

“I?” Bravo tilts his head to the side, taking another step forward as the wall closes up behind him. “Uh, it looks like- looks to me like there’s two of you, pal.” His gaze cuts over to Jimmy, and his mouth quirks into a grin- hard and humorless. “Good to see ya, Jimmy.”

Tango bristles. “Leave him out of this,” he says lowly, stepping in front of Jimmy. “He wasn’t supposed to come.”

Jimmy makes a noise of protest. “Hang on-”

“Ohh, oh okay,” Bravo says, nodding slowly, “I- I see what this is. This is- hah, wow, this is kinda perfect.” He begins to pace in front of them, idly twirling his sword in his hand; there’s an unsettling air about him. “Lemme guess, you uh- you intended to come here alone, but your soulmate had other ideas?”

He spits the word like an insult. Tango feels his lip curl. “None of your business.” 

“Oh? It’s not?” Bravo barks out a laugh- a sharp contrast to the enraged look in his eyes. “Well, you’re in my fucking house, so, you know. Forgive my curiosity.”

Anger flares inside Tango; he pushes it down. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot-”

“You fucking think?”

“Enough!” Jimmy shouts, wings flaring as he throws an arm out in front of Tango. “Bravo, listen to me. I don’t like you, alright, but we aren’t here to fight.”

“Obviously.” Bravo actually rolls his eyes. “I can- I can piece it together well enough, okay. You figured that you could come rescue me from Hels, and then I- everything will be peachy-keen, right? I mean, if- if you wanted me to stay here, you wouldn’t have opened a portal. Except this one,” he stops his pacing, leveling his sword at Tango, “got it in his thick head that it was somethin’ he needed ‘to do alone.’ So he snuck off by himself, on a solo mission of noble, stupid self-sacrifice, in the hopes that it’d make up for what he did-”

“Shut up,” Tango growls.

“- and that it’d keep you safe. Right?” Bravo’s voice drips with malice. “Except poor Jimmy’s too good to let you take the fall alone so he followed you here, right into my trap.”

“So what?” Tango demands with a bravado he doesn’t feel. Truthfully, Bravo’s words have opened a pit in his stomach; he hates that Bravo has seen through him so clearly. “What, I mean- you want a trophy for figuring it out? And- and why set a trap for us if your plan was clearly to get out through a portal of your own?”

Bravo scowls. “That trap wasn’t for you, actually. It’s for the damn mercenaries that’ve been comin’ after us since I split from Hels Tek.”

Jimmy frowns. “Us?”

Bravo’s face twitches. “Wh- me. Whatever.”

“You split from Hels Tek?” Tango asks, furrowing his brows. He knew Atlas and Bravo had fought back on Double Life, but he wasn’t sure if that’d be enough to make Bravo willingly take on Hels by himself.

Bravo snorts. “Yeah, I- I uh, I don’t take kindly to bein’ stabbed in the back, but Atlas still wanted a portal and wasn’t gonna take no for an answer, so.”

Tango would laugh at the irony, if he didn’t feel so sick to his stomach. “Wow,” he drawls, still unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “so it turned out Atlas only cared about you as far as he could exploit you? Imagine that.” 

Clearly, he’s touched a nerve. “Shut up,” Bravo snaps.

“Watch it,” Jimmy snaps back. 

Unbothered, Tango glances around the cavern. “So wait, you- it’s only been like, what, a- a couple weeks since you respawned here, how- where did you get all these supplies?”

“Eh, found a new sponsor.” Bravo shrugs. “You know, I was probably only a few more days away from gettin’ my portal up and running ‘til you guys showed up. But it worked out nice this way, right?” There’s a manic light in his eyes. “I- I was gonna get my vengeance on you once I got back to the overworld, but instead, we can do it right now.”

That’s all the warning he gives before he attacks.

He’s fast, faster than Tango’s expecting. It’s all he can do to shove Jimmy out of the way, diving into a roll that brings him quickly back to his feet. He only brought one sword; he pulls it from his inventory and throws it to Jimmy without a second thought, because he doubts Jimmy prepared at all before coming through the portal and swords have always felt clumsy in his hands. There’s a reason traditional PVP has never been his strong suit.

The sword has barely left his grasp before Bravo’s springing at him again.

Screech!

Tango brings his claws up in time to catch Bravo’s blade between them. The force of the blow shudders through his arms. Bravo’s strong, too- stronger than Tango would think for a non-hybrid version of himself.

“Stop it!” Tango huffs. “We don’t wanna fight you!”

“Too bad!” Bravo sneers.

Well, if that’s what he wants. Tango ducks under the sword and brings a hand up to slash at Bravo’s face. Bravo disengages, darting backwards, out of reach- he readjusts his grip for another swing.

“Hey, lay off!”

Jimmy charges into the fray; Bravo pivots mid-swing to block Jimmy’s blade, the clang of metal reverberating through the cavern. He leans into the movement, bringing his leg up to deliver a swift kick to Jimmy’s side.

With a pained grunt, Jimmy stumbles, off-balance. Bravo raises his sword to slash again- but Tango rushes him, forcing him back. Claws swipe through empty air.

“Gotta do better than that,” Bravo tuts, flicking his sword out to nick Tango’s cheek.

The sharp pain and sudden scent of blood is disorienting. Tango lunges forward almost blindly, a snarl catching in the back of his throat. Rage bubbles inside him, and he can feel his fire trying to respond- but with the wither rose in his system, it’s like throwing a match into a well.

Bravo deftly steps around him. “There’s that famous Tango temper again!” he taunts. “Go on, show us exactly how much of a monster you are.” 

The words sober Tango instantly. He swallows back his rage; the last thing he wants to do is lose control like he did back at the ranch, especially when Jimmy could get hurt. His fire may be dampened, but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

Then his ears twitch at a furious shout- Jimmy surges into the air, wings beating, and swoops down at Bravo. “Don’t you dare call him that!”

In the same moment, Tango moves to block Bravo’s escape route, aiming for his hands in an attempt to disarm him.

But Bravo’s ready for them both. 

He ducks beneath Tango’s claws and side-steps Jimmy’s attack, jabbing the pommel of his sword into Tango’s gut as a parting blow. Wings flailing, Jimmy pulls up short to avoid slamming into Tango- and yelps as Bravo’s sword cleaves a handful of feathers into the air.

“Come on!” Bravo goads them. “That the best you can do?”

Tango hadn’t gotten much of a chance to actually observe Bravo fight during the Hels Tek invasion, and he’s sorely regretting it now. It’s clear Bravo’s got more experience with PVP than either of them. And not the type of casual sparring between friends, but genuine life-or-death fighting- fast, messy, and brutal. Even being two against one isn’t helping them much; Bravo keeps on the move, twisting through and around them with a practiced ease that leaves them struggling not to accidentally hit each other.

A detached part of Tango’s mind runs through their options. Being killed and ending up at the world spawn would be the worst-case scenario; they’d basically be gift-wrapped for Atlas to come snatch up. But he doesn’t think joining through a hacked portal would reset their spawns; after all, the Hels Tek invaders wound up back in Hels after they were killed. Of course, he’d rather not find out for certain. And if he ends up respawning back to Double Life, his entire goal in coming here alone goes up in smoke. He won’t get another chance at this- the other Double Lifers will insist on putting themselves in danger to help him, ‘cause they’re annoyingly kind like that, and everything will turn into a big flaming ball of disaster.

So it’s really in his best interest not to get killed right now.

Except, he can’t help but notice that Bravo actually doesn’t seem to be trying to kill them. Most of what he’s aiming for are non-vital structures- arms, legs, Jimmy’s wings. When he does land an attack above the belt, it almost seems like he’s holding back, leaving only shallow gashes or a blunt hit with a skillfully thrown fist, knee, or elbow.

And despite clearly being the superior fighter, he’s mainly staying on the defensive. He isn’t taking nearly as many swings as he could. It’s an endurance game, Tango realizes- he’s trying to tire them out. But why? He’s on his own, it’s not like he’s stalling for reinforcements. There’s nowhere for them to go. That is, nowhere except-

Tango’s gaze falls on the pit at the bottom of the dropchute.

Oh. Oh, that’s-

Wham!

Pain explodes through Tango’s skull.

Bravo’s taken advantage of Tango’s brief lapse in concentration, landing a solid punch on the side of his face. It’s enough to make him black out for a moment, every thought in his brain screeching to a halt. When he comes back to himself, his cheek is pressed against the floor, made warm and sticky with his pooling blood. There’s a faint ringing in his ears- above it, he can barely make out the sound of swords clashing somewhere in front of him.

Tango manages to lift his head, blinking spots from his vision.

Bravo is driving Jimmy back- back towards the center of the room where the pit is. Tango opens his mouth to scream a warning, but he’s too late. As they near the edge of the pit, Bravo suddenly steps under Jimmy’s guard, hooking a leg behind Jimmy’s foot as one hand comes up to twist his sword out of his grip. Bravo’s other arm slams against Jimmy’s chest, knocking him off-balance.

Jimmy falls backwards with a shout, into the pit of cobwebs. He doesn’t fall very deep, of course- that’s not how cobwebs work. But he is immediately stuck, wings and limbs straining as he slowly begins to sink.

“Jimmy!” Tango cries, his heart jolting. 

Oh, this is bad. Getting out of cobwebs without a sword, while slowly falling through them, will be almost impossible. Especially since Jimmy’s feathers are particularly prone to sticking to that stuff and every movement will cause him pain as he pulls on them.

“There.” Satisfied, Bravo stows Jimmy’s sword in his inventory before turning back to Tango. “Now we can finally finish this.”

“No!” Jimmy pleads desperately from the pit, already disappearing from view. “Leave ‘em alone!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill him,” Bravo tuts as he approaches Tango. “That- I mean, that’d just send you back home, right? Hacked portals don’t do the whole spawn reset-ification thing, as it turns out.” He shakes his head. “No, I- what I’m gonna do is arrange a little meeting with our old buddy Atlas to come pick you up, okay, and- and then I’ll finally get him off my back and be able to leave this fucking place for good.”

Terror shoots through Tango. If Atlas comes here, with Jimmy trapped like this…

Head pounding, Tango struggles to get to his feet. “Y- you don’t have to do this,” he says weakly. “I know I messed up, a- and I’m sorry, okay? But Jimmy had nothin’ to do with it, he- you have to let him go, please.”

Bravo’s lip curls. “I’m not gonna let Atlas get him. Believe it or not, I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let another overworlder get trapped here.”

Despite the severity of the situation, the offended disdain in his tone makes Tango snort. “Oh, sorry, uh- excuse me for thinkin’ you’d ever do such a terrible thing,” he rasps. “I- I mean, you can’t blame me, right? You- it’s not like you’ve made a great impression.”

Bravo’s eyes darken with anger, and then his fist is in Tango’s stomach. The punch makes Tango double over, gasping for breath- then a well-placed kick throws him back against the wall, pain crashing through his ribs.

“What’re you doin’?!” Jimmy’s panicked voice sounds from the pit- he’s sunken far enough down that he can’t see them anymore. “Don’t hurt him!”

Bravo ignores him, stalking forward to grab Tango by the front of his shirt. “You’re one to talk, you piece of shit,” he hisses in Tango’s face, reeling back for another hit.

Crack.

This one lands the hilt of his sword against Tango’s jaw. Bravo drops him to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Tango!” Jimmy’s scream sounds far away.

Everything is pain. With no small amount of effort, Tango pushes himself upright, breathing raggedly through his nose. He can feel blood trickling down his chin from his split lip, can taste it stained against his teeth. His head aches. His body is shaking. There’s a cold pit of dread in his stomach, and he knows that he’s lost this fight.

But more than that, deep down, there’s the realization that maybe… he always expected to.

(It’s not like coming here without Jimmy would’ve changed the outcome. No matter what Tango said or did, Bravo was always going to react this way- why would Tango think anything different? Despite his intention to extend the olive branch, he knows Bravo wouldn’t have been satisfied to just let bygones be bygones.

Truthfully, Tango had been prepared for this the moment he saw that red light fill their portal. Bravo had nailed it right at the start; this was always going to be a mission of self-sacrifice. If giving himself up meant placating Bravo and Hels Tek, if it meant that the people he cared about would be safe, then Tango had been willing to accept it. Even if it meant going back to the farm for the rest of his life.

He’s already had ten years in the sun. That’s more than anyone else in Hels got.)

Bravo looms over him, a mad, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your days in that farm where you belong,” he says lowly, “and out of the life you stole from me. You’re nothin’ but an evil monster, and it’s what you deserve.”

A strange feeling settles over Tango.

It’s like déjà vu, to sit here and listen to his doppelgänger repeat all the horrible things Tango’s believed about himself almost his entire life, all the things he’s told himself in the mirror time and time again. It’s his words spoken in his voice out of an eerily similar face, as if all his deepest insecurities have taken form.

It’s achingly, hauntingly familiar. Like a knife tracing over old scars.

And yet, there’s something odd about hearing it from another person. To hear such hatred and conviction in that voice, to see it so plainly in his eyes. Tango’s well aware that there are plenty of players who feel the same way- not just about him, but other hostile mob hybrids, too. He’s no stranger to prejudice; he’s noticed the wary looks and distrustful glares he’s gotten on public multiplayer worlds before.

Hell, Atlas is attempting to build an empire on the very concept of oppressing hybrids, and he’s had plenty of help to do it. Not just his fellow redstone scientists, but sponsors and buyers, too. Lots of players have reason to want Tango in a farm, to exploit and degrade him. But only because they would profit from it- otherwise they wouldn’t bother wasting so much time and energy on him. Sure, Atlas probably hates him to some degree, and is indifferent at best to all the pain he’s been caused. But Tango’s also certain that if he weren’t useful, then Atlas wouldn’t give him a second thought. If he couldn’t be farmed, Atlas would never have come after him in the first place. It’s all about ambition with Atlas; he wouldn’t waste time on petty revenge schemes.

Bravo, on the other hand, stands to gain absolutely nothing from this except the satisfaction of knowing Tango is suffering. How strange, that the only player to ever really demonstrate that desire isn’t even from Hels.

And with that thought, everything falls into place.

Tango wheezes out a laugh, though he immediately regrets it- fuck, his ribs. “So that’s where I get my sadism from! Good to know, good to know.”

The smirk drops off Bravo’s face. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Tango wipes the blood from his face. “I mean, I- we- we’ve established that I’m just a uh, a physical manifestation of all the evil parts of you, yeah? That’s what Hels are? Well, if that’s true, then every bad thing about me is somethin’ I got from you.” He grins, despite the pain of his split lip. “Can’t pour from an empty bottle, right?”

Bravo balks at him. “No, that’s not- it’s different,” he argues. “It’s- this is justified, you took everything from me-”

“So now you’re gonna do the same?” Tango raises his eyebrows. Bracing a hand against the wall, he slowly rises to his feet. “Funny, I- I thought that you were supposed to be a better person than me.”

“I am!” Bravo insists angrily.

Tango shrugs. “Well, you sure ain’t actin’ like it, skippy.”

That seems to take Bravo aback. “I- I don’t-” He rakes a hand through his hair, his breathing quickening. “It’s- it’s you, it’s this fucking place, it’s- I don’t know, it’s every-fucking-thing that’s happened in the last ten years! I- I didn’t deserve this, I didn’t do anything to deserve getting sent here!”

“Hold on, what makes you think I did anything to deserve gettin’ sent here?” Tango asks, genuinely curious. “I was spawned here as a child, I mean, what- what could a child possibly do to ‘deserve’ spawning here? What could any of us have done to deserve this?”

Ooh, Bravo doesn’t like that question. “I don’t know,” he splutters, “I didn’t make you spawn here! That was the universe, it- it must know that you- all you Hels- you’re just destined to be bad.”

Tango tilts his head. “Yeah? If that’s the case, then uh, why did the universe send you here?”

Bravo makes a sound like he’s been punched. “What?”

“I didn’t make that portal. You didn’t make that portal. We all know that the universe makes portals to Hermitcraft so why-”

“Stop it! It was a mistake! A glitch! I- I was never meant to come to Hels, you-”

“Then how has every other Hermit joined without having the same problem? Huh? Why you? Why us?”

“Shut up!” Bravo cries, almost desperate. “I’m the one in the right, here!”

“Says who?” Tango asks.

“I just- I have to be in the right!” Bravo protests, throwing an arm out. “I- I’m not like you, I’m not a Hels, I’m supposed to be the good one. If I’m mad, if I wanna hurt someone, it has to be justified, ‘cause I’m not- I’m not cruel.”

Tango just looks at him.

Bravo seems to recognize the irony in his words. It hits him almost like a physical attack; he staggers, eyes widening, face twisting with rage. “Don’t you dare fucking judge me!” he shouts as he raises his sword accusingly at Tango, voice echoing off the cavern walls. “I’m just- I did what I had to do to survive, and- and it ruined me. This world ruined me, and it’s all your fault, you bastard!”

They’re hollow accusations, built from hurt and deflected blame. But it doesn’t occur to Tango to defend himself against them. He couldn’t if he wanted to; all he can do is watch Bravo in stunned silence.

Even without the ability to set himself ablaze, Bravo’s rage is a terrible thing to behold. Tears stream down his reddened face; a mixture of fury and despair, raw and ugly. “It’s not fair!” he wails, almost a breathless scream. “Why did you get to be saved? Why did I have to take your place? What- what did I do?”

He takes another step closer, drawing his sword back, and Tango is suddenly struck by the very real possibility that Bravo is about to kill him.

“You did this to me!” Bravo snarls, wild-eyed and heaving for breath. “You and e- everyone else in th- this fucking hellscape, you- you did this, you-!” 

Bravo lifts his sword for the killing blow-

And then he pauses. He stares at Tango, and Tango stares back.

“... fuck. What am I doing?”

Bravo stumbles back from Tango, lowering his sword. He clutches his head with his free hand, a few stray tears streaking down his face as he struggles to control his breathing. His anger seems to have extinguished, finally letting the pain seep through- an expression that Tango knows as intimately as his own reflection.

Tango blinks. 

It’s a complicated rush of emotions. Bravo represents the worst part of Tango’s life coming back to haunt him; his skeleton in the closet. Fueled by prejudice and misplaced blame, he fought tooth and nail to destroy the life Tango had built for himself, brought pain and hardship to a world of strangers who’d done nothing to deserve it. He made a deal with a devil to get what he wanted and didn’t care who got caught up in the crossfire. Most of all, despite having a viable way to escape Hels peacefully, he doggedly pursued revenge out of nothing but spite and a twisted sense of justice.

Logically, Tango should hate Bravo as much as Bravo hates him.

But for the first time, Tango tries to imagine what it must’ve been like to be trapped in Hels for ten years and not knowing why.

What Bravo went through is exactly what Tango’s always feared since he escaped; that one day his luck would run out, and he’d lose everything. His peaceful life in the overworld. His freedom. His friends, and the love he found with Jimmy- maybe Bravo had people he cared about before, too. Worst of all, Bravo had already experienced the wonders of the wider universe before having it abruptly taken from him.

Tango had been spawned into cruelty and suffering. He hadn’t known anything different, hadn’t known there was anything beyond Hels that he was missing out on. But Bravo did. Bravo knew what it was to travel between worlds, to explore untainted horizons, to live under the warmth of the sun. He knew cooperation and goodwill between players, the comfort and safety of solo worlds. And then suddenly, he’d been deprived of it all, with no way of knowing if he’d ever get it back.

So if Atlas told him that it wasn’t his fault, that he could blame it all on some mysterious, evil doppelgänger… Tango understands why he’d cling to the notion so fiercely.

It’s an easy thing to blame someone else. Accepting that Tango isn’t to blame for what he’s become means accepting that maybe his understanding of Hels players is flawed, and that he might not have been as good of a player as he thought to begin with. Accepting that Tango wasn’t to blame for stranding him in Hels in the first place would mean accepting that maybe… there wasn’t a reason at all. And that kind of acceptance is paramount to altering his entire worldview.

Tango’s been through that himself, once. It wasn’t a fun process. So right now, watching Bravo fall apart in front of him, he finds that all he can feel is sympathy.

So Tango summons enough strength to step forward and wrap Bravo in a hug.

Bravo recoils at first; the kind of instinctive flinch that Tango knows all too well. A noise catches in his throat- part alarm, part disgust. “What’re you-” He tries to push away, but Tango holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Bravo freezes. 

The air is still and silent around them, filled with nothing but the faint flickering of torches and Bravo’s shrill breathing. He’s as rigid as stone in Tango’s embrace- his muscles are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. After a few moments, he inhales sharply, and Tango is almost certain he’s about to receive a sword in the gut but he doesn’t let go, because he remembers what it’s like to live in this world and if he can’t even show his own doppelgänger kindness then he really hasn’t learned anything at all-

The sword clatters to the ground. And Bravo breaks.

He folds into the embrace and begins to sob. He sobs hard, shaking and gasping for breath in between, clinging to Tango like his life depends on it. Tears quickly dampen the collar of Tango’s shirt. It’s different from his earlier furious cries- this is absolute devastation, heart-wrenching and all-consuming. It’s a flood ten years in the making, finally spilling over all the careful walls that Bravo’s built around himself. And now that it’s here, there’s no stopping it.

Tango doesn’t speak. He simply eases them down to sit on the floor- he can’t support both his and Bravo’s weight right now. Bravo practically collapses, body limp, legs curled awkwardly beneath him but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He sags against Tango and cries, and Tango lets him.

It’s slightly bizarre, holding his doppelgänger while he cries. Especially when he was attacking Tango not even two minutes ago. In many ways, it’s a disturbing echo of his own past breakdowns- he can hear himself so clearly in Bravo’s voice, the raw ache of it.

But he’s glad for it. New growth can only happen once the old is torn down. It’s a messy, unpleasant process. It won’t be quick or easy. Bravo has only just taken the first step- he’s still got a long, difficult journey ahead of him. But Tango knows how beautiful it’ll be, to come out through the other side.

And he thinks maybe he needed this, too.

Tango isn’t sure how much time they spend like that. Only when Bravo has finally grown silent, just the occasional sniffle or shaky breath, does Tango sit back enough to meet Bravo’s teary gaze.

“And neither did I,” he continues quietly. “And neither did anyone else who’s ever spawned here, that- that’s the point.”

Bravo sniffs, wiping his face on his sleeve. “But… the universe has to spawn you here for a reason,” he insists, his voice small and confused. Like a child.

Tango’s mildly surprised to find he feels no anger- just pity. “Maybe the universe is wrong.”

Distress flashes across Bravo’s face; clearly, he’s never considered that before. He pulls away from Tango but he doesn’t go far, tucking his knees to his chest. “So then... all this pain, all this struggle... was for nothing,” he says miserably. “Everything I went through... a- and everything I did... I- I was so sure there had to be a reason, that I was different from the players here, that I didn’t belong here. But I- I’m fucked up. I used to be a nice person, but…”

“Nice isn’t the same thing as good,” Tango says simply. “And I would know.”

Bravo swallows. “… how did you do it?” he asks hoarsely. “You’re a Hels, why… how come this world didn’t ruin you, too? How did you end up being the good one?”

It’s an exceedingly vulnerable question, without a hint of reproach. Tango hums, leaning back on his arms. “Y’know, I spent a long time in this world. I- I grew up where it’s kill or be killed, murder first ask questions later, everyone’ll sell you out for a piece of rotten flesh. That was just normal. That was expected. If you’d known me back then, I- I would’ve been no different from any other Hels. I set horrible traps for fun. I cost random players, people I didn’t even know, their resources and their lives in an already harsh world, I mean- it wasn’t pretty. But I was a kid.” He glances sidelong at Bravo. “I was just a teenager when Atlas took me in, did you- did he ever tell you that?” 

Bravo’s surprised expression is all the answer Tango needs.

“Nah, I guess he wouldn’t,” Tango sighs ruefully. “But the first person I thought was different- the first person who I thought saw more in me than the capacity for chaos, who offered me a home, a sense of belonging, a purpose... it turned out to be a trick. All of it, a lie. Just to get me into a horrible farm for the rest of my life, suffering constant withering and being harvested for my resources, like- like I was nothin’ more than a mob.” He gives Bravo a half-hearted grin. “You’d think that’d seal it, right? Like, that would just totally destroy any remaining faith I had in playerkind. And uh, it came pretty close, actually. But then I got out.”

He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “The universe created a portal, and I escaped to a world where players were kind. And generous, and… gave you the benefit of the doubt. They didn’t assume the worst, they didn’t judge you based on what you looked like. It was… completely foreign. I took advantage of it at first, I mean, I- I was a total jerk. I’m just lucky they thought it was all in good fun, jokes and pranks and stuff- or, or uh, maybe they did know, and still chose to show me grace, I dunno. What I do know is that after enough time had passed… I changed. My wants, my goals, my- my entire outlook on life changed. Suddenly I wanted to be good, I- I tried so hard to be good. And that only happened ‘cause I got the chance.” 

He meets Bravo’s gaze, raising his eyebrows. “And- and I was an adult at that point, I’d grown up in Hels. I mean, imagine what I might’ve been like if I’d spawned on a normal world, grown up in the normal way. Hell, imagine if any other Hels kid got that chance. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many differences between us. Like, maybe even someone like Atlas could’ve been better.” He shrugs. “And maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he always would’ve grown up to be an asshole. Either way, there’s no way of knowing if they never have the chance.”

Bravo looks pensive, his brows knitted together. “I guess I… never thought of that.”

Tango dares to reach out and put a hand on Bravo’s arm. “I’m sorry you got sent here. If I’d known about it when it happened... well, I- I probably still wouldn’t have said anything, if I’m honest,” he admits. “Like you said, I did what I had to do to survive. But I’m sorry for what you went through, and for what my role in that was. If I’d been brave enough to speak up, maybe we could’a helped you sooner, I dunno.” 

Bravo glances away. “I… understand,” he says haltingly. “It, uh… it doesn’t excuse the way I’ve been actin’, so. You know.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “For what it’s worth, I- I don’t think ‘being good’ is somethin’ that’s like… intrinsically handed to us, just by virtue of where we spawn. I think good is a choice that we make, every second of every day of our lives. And y’know, deciding not to choose good in one moment doesn’t mean we can never choose good again.” He huffs a soft laugh. “I mean, if you ask me, that’s way more important than the world we spawn in.”

Bravo looks at him for a moment. His expression is impossible to read. Then determination settles over him, his eyes hardening, before he abruptly gets to his feet. Without a word, he marches over to one of the chests on the floor and rummages through it. Before Tango can say anything, Bravo pulls out an item and tosses it over to him.

Tango catches it, mostly on reflex; it’s a potion of instant health.

“You take that,” Bravo says briskly, stooping over to pick his sword off the ground, “while I go help Jimmy out of there.”

Then he jumps into the pit, slashing through cobwebs on his way down.

Tango blinks. Well, then. Guess that’s decided. He downs the potion quickly, grimacing at the sweet aftertaste of glistering melon, and rises to his feet. It hasn’t fully restored him, but it’s taken the edge off his fresh injuries and given him enough strength to be a functional player again, and he’s quite satisfied with that for now.

Putting away the empty bottle, he wanders over to the edge of the pit, catching the tail end of Jimmy snapping at Bravo as he approaches.

“- where you’re swingin’ that thing!”

“I’m tryin’ to help! Just hold still-”

“Don’t you tell me to- ouch!”

“You’re makin’ it worse! Hang on…”

Tango’s only just leaned over to look when Jimmy flies out of the pit. His wings are ruffled and there are a few places where it’s obvious that some feathers were pulled out, a few stray bits of cobweb still clinging here and there. But aside from the scrapes and bruises he received during their fight with Bravo, he looks none the worse for wear. He’s been gracious enough to carry Bravo out with him, though he’s quick to dump Bravo back on the ground once they’re clear of the pit.

“Tango!” Jimmy swoops over and nearly knocks Tango over, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Oh my gosh, I- I was so worried, are you alright?”

Despite the ache in his bones, Tango hugs him back just as fiercely. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, hun,” he reassures Jimmy, voice muffled in the crook of his shoulder.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to curl up in Jimmy’s embrace and fall asleep. Between the fight and his unexpected heart-to-heart with Bravo, he’s physically and emotionally worn out. But even though the immediate threat has been nullified, he knows they aren’t done yet.

Tango pulls back just enough to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “I’m sorry for all this,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to cup Jimmy’s face. “I thought… if I came here by myself, I’d be protecting you- protecting everyone- from suffering the consequences of my mistake.”

Jimmy covers Tango’s hand with his own. “Did you… did you come here with the intent of givin’ yourself up?” he asks quietly.

Tango winces. “Well, I didn’t- that wasn’t my main goal, no, but uh- I- I knew it was a possibility,” he confesses. “I mean, ideally I would’ve patched things up with Bravo and- and somehow gotten the key from Atlas on my own, but… I was prepared to fail, yeah. I’d accepted it.”

Jimmy looks sad, but not surprised. “Y’know,” he starts softly, “you- you always talk about, uh… not wantin’ to hurt us, not wantin’ us to suffer for your mistakes. But I don’t think you realize that for us, the thought of losin’ you is far worse than whatever else might happen. I mean, I- I’d go through that battle with Hels Tek a hundred times over if it meant not losin’ you. And I know the others feel the same way.”

“Oh.” Tango’s throat tightens. “I… hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know.” A bittersweet smile spreads across Jimmy’s face. “I know it’s hard for you to believe sometimes, alright, but you- we’re rather fond of you, mate. So, um… d’you think you could give the self-sacrificial nonsense a rest?”

Despite everything, Tango feels himself grin. “I can try, yeah,” he says, leaning up to give Jimmy a kiss.

(On the inside, Tango is still terrified at how this might turn out. Hels is a dangerous world, and tangling with Atlas and the rest of Hels Tek is no small order. A horrible painful death is the least of his concerns- if Jimmy or any of the other Double Lifers ended up in a farm, Tango would never forgive himself.

But if today taught him anything, it’s that the people he cares about are just as stubborn as he is. No matter what he says or does, they’re going to be determined to help him, because that’s just the kind of players they are. And he could continue to try and fight it, to try and go it alone, but he’s sure they’ll still somehow put themselves in harm’s way.

So rather than fight it, maybe he can accept that they’re able to make their own decisions and take their own risks. And that working with them, rather than against them, might give them all the best chance of having a favorable outcome. They’ll certainly have an easier time dealing with Atlas if they don’t have to worry about Tango pulling another dirty, reckless move like this.)

Behind them, Bravo coughs into his fist. “Uh, hey, are you two done…?”

Jimmy breaks away with a huff of annoyance. “What?” he demands, keeping an arm around Tango’s waist.

“Just thinkin’ out loud here,” Bravo says, holding his hands up, “but uh, you- there’s no way you two are gonna be able to take on Hels Tek alone. I mean, you’ve already lost the element of surprise, I- he’s probably noticed your arrival in chat by now. And Hels Tek is several days away on foot, how- what, are you just- are you just gonna walk there? You’d barely make it a hundred blocks before gettin’ killed, what with your abysmal PVP skills.”

Jimmy scowls at the slight against them, but Tango frowns. “You’re right,” he amends. “I uh, I honestly didn’t have much of a plan besides ‘winging it’ when I came through, I- I was on a bit of a time crunch.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Jimmy asks Bravo pointedly.

Bravo rolls his eyes. “I mean, I just wanna get the fuck out of here. But if you guys are tryin’ to get the key to that collar skadoodler from Atlas, you’re gonna need help.”

“From you?” Jimmy’s distrust is evident in his voice. “Why?”

Bravo crosses his arms, shoulders hunched defensively. “I dunno, I- maybe I feel bad about the part I played in all this and feel like I owe you guys one?”

Jimmy scoffs. “Doubtful.”

Bravo opens his mouth to retort, but Tango intervenes. “Hey, I know you probably couldn’t hear everything from the bottom of that pit,” he tells Jimmy, “but uh, I- I really think we’ve worked it out, now.” He glances over at Bravo, smiling. “I think we can trust him.”

Shock flares in Bravo’s eyes, his expression sobering. He gives a slight nod.

Jimmy purses his lips. “Fine, but I still don’t like it-”

Ca-clunk.

Pistons activate, making all three of them whirl around to face the wall. Tango’s mind is already racing through the different possibilities- maybe Bravo was actually just stalling until backup came, or maybe Atlas was able to track them down on his own, or maybe it’s even a completely random player who stumbled across the base- but that all comes screeching to a halt as soon as he sees the player who steps out into the room.

Because that’s Jimmy.

Or- well- not exactly. It’s obviously not Jimmy because he’s still standing next to Tango. But it’s immediately apparent that, despite the several major differences between them, this is Jimmy’s doppelgänger, his Hels counterpart.

It seems impossible. Or at least, highly improbable, that Jimmy’s doppelgänger would be here, of all places, and now, of all times, when Hels is a massive, infinite world full of nearly infinite players.

But there’s no one else he could be.

“Bravo!” the player calls in Jimmy’s voice. “Did you- oh.” He draws up short when he sees them, seeming just as thrown by this turn of events as they are.

The first thing that jumps out at Tango is how skinny the player is. He’s practically emaciated; despite his tall frame, his limbs are no thicker than Tango’s, his big, watery eyes sunken into a hollow face- a face that, aside from the lack of a crooked nose, is almost identical to Jimmy’s. The large wings that trail behind him are black in color and poorly kept. He’s a lot paler than Jimmy is, too, almost a sickly sort of complexion. His ratty hair is a dull black, and- based on the sharp angles of the ends- was cut short very recently. 

Now Tango knows how Jimmy must’ve been feeling this whole time. It’s fucking weird.

Beside him, Jimmy’s breath catches. He takes a single, tentative step forward- though Tango is quick to throw an arm out in front of him. The player doesn’t look very threatening. He’s barefoot and dressed in rags, carrying no weapon or armor. But Tango’s still on guard. This is an unknown Hels player, after all.

The player stares at Jimmy, entranced. “Oh,” he breathes, a trembling hand coming up to tug on a strand of hair. A jumble of emotions flash across his face, too fast to read. “I see… you must be Jimmy.”

“And you’re Timmy,” Jimmy says softly, dawning realization settling over his features. “Aren’t you? Gosh…”

Tango recognizes the tone of their voices; they’re experiencing the same strange sensation he did, the first time he laid eyes on Bravo. That abrupt and absolute recognition of the self in the other. Despite meeting for the first time, there hadn’t been a doubt in Tango’s mind that Bravo was his doppelgänger. He’d known it as surely as his own name. It was something instinctual, almost primal- grounding and disorienting all at once.

Timmy. That’s the nickname that Grian and some of the other guys call Jimmy. A practical joke played on them by the universe, no doubt, to have spawned with the names they did.

Bravo finally unfreezes. “Timmy! I told you to wait for me to come get you!” he hisses, but Tango can see the guilt and shame on his face. 

“Sorry…” Timmy murmurs distantly, still fixated on Jimmy. “I was just… gosh, I- everythin’ makes sense now…” He finally turns to look at Bravo, and the faint, knowing smile on his face is devastatingly sad. “I… get why I wasn’t good enough.”

Bravo flinches. “No, no I- I didn’t mean-”

“Ey,” Jimmy cuts in, voice gentle but firm as he moves past Tango to approach Timmy. “C’mere, mate, it’s alright. Ignore him a second, hey?” He fans out a wing to block Bravo from view, nonverbally conveying that he’d like a private moment with his doppelgänger.

“Yeah, come on.” Tango takes the cue to grab Bravo by the arm, leading him to the other side of the room. “You- you wanna explain him?” he asks lowly, putting his hands on his hips. “I mean, how- where did you even find him?”

Bravo exhales heavily. “At spawn. Actually, I- we met the first time I ended up at world spawn, all those years ago. Go figure. He- he’d been livin’ there for god knows how long, just… starving to death, over and over again, ‘cause he was too scared to leave.”

Damn.

“Huh.” Tango nods slowly. “So… what were you sayin’ about all Hels being evil monsters…?”

Bravo tenses. “Shut up. He’s different.” He glances over his shoulder at the pair of avians. “I… after I was killed on your world, and- and escaped from Hels Tek, I ended up at spawn. He was still there, and this time… he agreed to come with me, so he could leave Hels with me once I got my portal working.”

“Mhmm.” Tango’s voice is terse, even to his own ears. “You, uh... didn’t happen to keep him around just ‘cause he’s my soulmate’s doppelgänger, did you?”

Bravo winces. “... maybe at first,” he admits. “But then- I dunno, I- I didn’t- things changed, alright?”

Tango folds his arms. “That’s pretty fucked up, to use him as a- a replacement Jimmy.”

“I know, okay?” Bravo hisses, but it’s lacking its usual venom. “I- I’ve had a lotta realizations in the last few minutes, alright? Gimme a break.”

Tango snorts but says nothing else, looking over to check on Jimmy.

He’s speaking to Timmy in low tones, eyes shining with concern. His demeanor is reserved, gentle, nonthreatening- he’s matching Timmy’s curled-in posture, just with less of the anxiety, more reassuring. And it seems to be working; even from this distance, it’s apparent Timmy’s slowly growing more comfortable, less afraid.

Sudden warmth swells in Tango’s chest. It’s overwhelming, meeting your doppelgänger, but Jimmy’s put all those complicated feelings aside to help a player who seems to sorely need it. His experience with Hels players thus far has been nothing but flat-out terrible, and yet it didn’t even occur to him to be wary of Timmy. Some might view that as foolish naivety or ignorance, maybe even stupidity. But to Tango, it’s a testament to Jimmy’s incredible kindness.

He couldn’t be more proud of his soulmate.

Eventually, Jimmy waves them over. “Hey, so uh, you got somethin’ to say to Timmy?” he asks Bravo, one hand resting protectively on Timmy’s bony shoulder.

Taken back, Bravo looks at Tango, who simply raises an eyebrow.

Bravo swallows. “Look,” he starts hesitantly, “I- I uh, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you, alright? It… wasn’t fair for me to compare you to Jimmy.”

Timmy’s avoiding his gaze, fidgeting with his hands, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes. “Thanks,” he says softly.

Satisfied for the moment, Jimmy turns to Tango. “We can’t leave him here,” he says, completely resolute. “I- I think we should head back through the portal for now, regroup with the others and come up with a- with an actual plan? So long as we don’t break the portal, we’ll still be able to come back through. Even if he,” he nods at Bravo, “is with us.”

Tango rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Right, right, yeah. I’m- the others are bound to notice we’re gone soon, so we should probably-”

“Oh!” Timmy gasps suddenly, smacking his forehead. “The others, right! Right, sorry, I uh- the reason I came to find you, Bravo, is that a- a whole buncha players just joined the world.” He cringes, apologetic. “I- I think it’s those guys you were tellin’ me about.”

“What?!” Bravo demands, sounding alarmed.

Tango whips out his communicator, eyes widening at the chat. 

The entire Double Life server has joined Hels. Which means they’re probably up by the portal right now, wandering around and looking for him in a dangerous world they’re entirely unfamiliar with, full of hostile mobs, hidden traps, and certain ruthless scientists who’d love to add a few hybrids to their collection.

Shit.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player types furiously on a communicator.

“No,” Atlas calls over his shoulder distractedly, “they won’t be at world spawn. Get me the last coordinates searched by Alisker’s mercenaries, we’ll start from there.”

“Yes, sir,” the scientist says quickly before rushing off.

It’s only been a few minutes since Atlas was alerted to Tango’s arrival in chat- him and one other player. The avian, he thinks. Obviously, this development necessitated that they drop everything and immediately pivot towards an effort to recapture Tango. Amidst giving orders to prepare the flying machines and gather weapons and armor, he’s been frantically trying to reach Alisker via whispers- without looking like he’s too desperate, of course, but he knows that having Alisker’s support in this endeavor will be critical to its success.

All the while, part of his mind is dedicated to puzzling out Tango’s motive.

He had a feeling they’d return to Hels eventually, to try and get the key for Tango’s collar from him. No doubt Tango’s finding its properties rather disruptive to normal life. The only question was whether or not Alisker’s mercenaries would find Bravo before then, allowing them to open a new portal and strike first. The latter option would’ve certainly been ideal, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter. He’s confident they’ll succeed this way, too.

(Failure isn’t an option. Not again.)

What’s most confusing, however, is that Tango seems to have come without any real backup. The other players from his world were quite formidable as a group; Tango must know that leaving them behind will considerably lower his chances of success. So perhaps he doesn’t intend to confront Atlas at all, and is simply content to live with the collar. After all, he’s still wearing the cuffs, all these years later.

The only way to open a portal to Hels- that they know of, at least- is by using a player’s data to lock onto their counterpart’s coordinates. So Tango must’ve opened a portal to Bravo. Perhaps that’s all his goal is- an attempt to make amends with his doppelgänger and provide an escape from Hels. If that’s the case, then they’re working with a limited time frame.

Because if Bravo leaves Hels with Tango, then Atlas is truly out of viable options. All he’ll be able to do is open random portals to any of Hels Tek’s counterparts in the overworld, giving them access to random worlds that Tango is highly unlikely to inhabit. That won’t satisfy Alisker, and Atlas is already on thin ice as it is. No, they need to move now if they have any chance of-

Chat is suddenly jumping with join messages, and some very familiar usernames.

Ah, there’s the rest of them.

Atlas’s runaway train of thought screeches to a halt. If the other members of that world are here now, then it seems like they’ll be going for the key, after all. Which means he can breathe again. They’ve got a difficult conflict ahead of them, sure, but he rather likes their chances here in Hels. And he’s got a much better idea of what they’re up against this time- they won’t be defeated again so easily.

Oh, and Alisker’s finally returned his message. Yes, things are shaping up quite nicely, indeed.

Atlas quickly makes the arrangements, rising from his chair and heading out of his office. The halls of Hels Tek are bustling with activity as everyone scrambles to get ready. Anticipation bubbles in Atlas’s chest. This is his last chance to be victorious; he won’t rest until Tango is locked back in that farm. And, if he plays this right, he’ll have several new additions to his hybrid-farming initiative as well. Already his mind is racing with ideas..

The minutes pass in a blur. Atlas is standing before the flying machines and barking orders, his voice echoing off the garage’s high ceiling, when his communicator beeps again. He glances down, expecting to see another message from Alisker, and draws up short.

Grian tried to swim in lava.

PearlescentMoon tried to swim in lava.

InTheLittleWood tried to swim in lava.

impulseSV tried to swim in lava.

Smajor1995 tried to swim in lava. 

Etho tried to swim in lava.

ZombieCleo tried to swim in lava.

bigbst4tz2 tried to swim in lava.

Smallishbeans tried to swim in lava.

GoodTimeWithScar tried to swim in lava.

BdoubleO100 tried to swim in lava.

Renthedog tried to swim in lava.

Atlas blinks in surprise. The messages are almost simultaneous; a massive die-off like this can’t be anything other than a trap. How curious...  he knows Bravo is rather fond of setting traps, as Alisker’s mercenaries have discovered firsthand. And if the portal they came through was spawned near Bravo’s location… perhaps this was accidental friendly fire?

Another message flashes.

SolidarityGaming was slain by Bravo.

Oh. Nevermind.

Atlas watches chat with bated breath. It hasn’t escaped his notice that, as of right now, Tango is still alive. And if his hunch is correct…

<Bravo whispered to you> hey. I’ve got an offer for you.

Atlas grins.

~*~

[cherrifire]

Why I think Martyn and Tango should team up for season 5 of the Life series (if we get a fifth season).

c!Tango hates c!Martyn so bad but Martyn doesn't even know what he did. Or he does know, but just doesn't care.

The player Martyn has the most kills on is Tango with 4. I think he deserves one more. (Man who can't stop killing his allies for fun and enrichment.)

Please.

I think pairing the biggest drama kid on the server with a tech kid would be very funny for me personally. In Last Life, Martyn paired himself with 3 tech kids and Jimmy, it's my favourite season. Southlanders my beloveds.

I need another Tango rage so badly and pairing him with Martyn is bound to make that happen.

Tango deserves revenge tbh. He's wronged every season and never gets a cool revenge plot. Something something keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

I deserve it personally :(

[lesbiananya]

hi! you can call me anya or lesbiananya. 💙✨️ my ao3 is steviatea. my roleplay-only blog is @nursewashing.

welcome to my mouthwashing sideblog where i am gay. below is a masterlist of all of my mouthwashing fanfic so far!

have any oneshot or drabble requests? feel free to send them my way! i might just write it!*

*i will only accept requests for F/F or general non-ship fanfic. no M/F or M/M. i do not ship anya with any of the canon characters from mouthwashing, so please don't ask for that from me!

reader insert stuff:

who could ever hurt you? who would be so unkind? - Anya/Female Reader, plot-heavy beast of a fanfiction. very gay. 180k+ words. ongoing! and you may ask yourself: well… how did i get here? - Anya/Female Reader, post-canon, reverse isekai/reincarnation on earth. 11k words. ongoing! she's morphine, queen of my vaccine - Anya/Female Reader, PTSD stoner reader. 2.9k words. complete! oh, and what a sweet memorial - Anya/Female Reader, post-canon survival, fast food comfort fic. 1.4k words. complete! cherenkov - Anya/Female Reader, pre-crash and post-crash, special interest/infodump fic. 3k words. complete! exxus - Anya/Female Reader + General, anthology, non-linear. reader kills jimmy in revenge for hurting anya. 2.8k words. ongoing!

looking for more fanfic i've written? find it in this masterpost!

before you follow / boundaries beneath the cut.

please refrain from bringing up "anya keeps the baby" scenarios. i find them horribly upsetting and even discourse about it makes me uncomfortable. i will not entertain that scenario in my own fanfic. i am uncomfortable even calling her unwanted pregnancy that never made it to full term a "baby"

i am pro-choice. pro-lifers' comments on my works will be screenshotted, pointed & laughed at, blocked, & deleted. <3

do not bring up jimmy and anya as a ship to me. full stop, no elaboration needed. honestly, don't even follow me or talk to me if you ship them. i tend to block people who do.

do not harass me in my inbox, and do not fetish mine from me. (definition on fanlore) while i am open to NSFW and kinky fic requests, i won't entertain requests that i'm not into, or fulfill requests that make me uncomfortable. sending repeat asks or badgering me for things will result in a block.

i do not like genderbends of anya (including any interpretation of her as a man) or shipping anya with curly. this should be a given with my username lol, but i really just don't like any ship with anya and men. do not ask for my input or content revolving around those things.

i am okay with anyone of any gender reading my anya/female reader fanfics! it's all good, just please don't be a misogynist!

[tubbytarchia]

Jimmy After Life SMP thoughts

Except it's not really thoughts. After Life was short and not very remarkable so I just summarized whatever I think is notable to Jimmy's character given my miserable Jimmy analysis bias

Immediately, Jimmy's origin makes him: small, weak, and restricts him to a weak set of armor (although it can be fortified with better resources). I believe the origins are chosen randomly, but, wow that feels targeted. Jimmy's all "This is me! I'm always the punching bag in series!" and "I need to go build a small house to protect me and stop being the punching bag my origin tells me I am"

I will give credit to Scott though for not bullying Jimmy regarding his build because I've learned that that's something he does consistently across SMPs even to others outside of Jimmy's vicinity lol

End dragon fight, they all make it, Jimmy wants the egg but so do the rest of them. So eventually he resorts to just hitting it continuously because if he can't have it, no one will, while he also tries to very poorly feign ignorance, pretending he's hitting it on accident. A few people hit or try to hit him, which is pretty justified, he's being kind of an ass, until fWhip shoots him dead

Jimmy's a cat now, Sausage makes a visit to make me specifically really uncomfortable (although the cat tower he builds is admittedly cute), then Jimmy forces Joel to adopt him and Joel has no say in it because he's on holiday. He's not happy about it but feigns having a change of heart when they meet, only to trick Jimmy into blowing himself up, to which Jimmy vowes to take revenge. He eventually does by making his rooms 2 blocks tall and as he's also voiced previously, he talks about Joel's potential reaction as if he's excited to hear him scream in anger. Whatever Jimmy lol

Jimmy's a half-dragon now but guess what. He's smaller than the other two dragons (fWhip and Joel) because why the fuck would he not be. So naturally the other two bully him. It makes sense for him to be smaller as a half-dragon but I'm sensing some bias here from the RNG gods again. Clenches fist. Poetically though he is the last "dragon" to survive. I'm also extremely fond of him just looking like a guy in a dragon onesie hanging out with his dragon.. parents? They do ask if they can adopt him

Infamous "Can we sleep babe. ty babygirl" "No worries sugar" (Joel to Jimmy)

While Jimmy's Wonka, he gets harmed by water which he tells everyone when they're in a boat race, letting them know that he can't enter water or he dies. With this knowledge later, fWhip tries to drown him which is made more egregious when they'd been trapped just moments prior and broke free only thanks to Jimmy. Joel was also complicit I think. In spite of this Jimmy tries to escape via the water but drowns

Jimmy's a red panda now. Except he made himself kung fu panda instead and he doesn't mention the discrepancy once which makes me think he doesn't even realize what red pandas are. He builds a Dojo as is appropriate and asks people to fight him, to which Joel responds. As they're preparing, in trying to boast, Jimmy keeps saying Joel's name and Joel goes "Why do you keep saying my name. Is it supposed to be intimidating cause I don't find it intimidating. I actually find it quite pleasing actually, say it more" to which Jimmy complies. He wins the fight but barely

So he's on one heart now right. And Sausage comes in asking for a match and Jimmy tries to tell him no, it was only supposed to be one match. Does Sausage listen? Nah he kills Jimmy (In his defense, he didn't know Jimmy was on one heart. However. Him going against Jimmy's wishes and/or dismissing his vocal defiance is something I will never not complain about. But also like he saw that Joel JUST died to Jimmy in chat?). Is he apologetic at least? No, he's defensive and making stew out of Jimmy's head

While Jimmy was a half-dragon in the dragon gang, they built themselves a base/shop, and Jimmy got accused of not doing anything in the building process. Sausage is now bringing it up and defending him, saying he built half of it. Jimmy says he tried. Not really sure what to read from this interaction because it appears to not be genuine, because Sausage had apparently told Jimmy what to do? I've got no clue what he means and I don't think I can really appreciate him trying to defend Jimmy. Jimmy's also an inchling at this time but he dislikes it so much he kills himself

But hey, what do you know, Jimmy is on his 2nd to last life whilst 4 other people are already gone. It's almost like he's not horribly bad at the game let alone the worst. anyway. The end

Aside from the initial episode, Jimmy doesn't have much of a habit of deprecating himself which is an absolute joy to see. He tends to praise himself more often than not and he deserves to

Slightly more on Sausage though, I remember seeing this clip where he gave Jimmy milk and then made an innuendo as if he'd tricked Jimmy into drinking his I'm-sure-you-can-guess-what. I thought that was in the After Life SMP but maybe not in Jimmy's POV? Either way I just need to point it out because wtf

[tunastime]

How Deeply Rooted Trees Go

Hey y'all !! This was my piece for the @trafficzine 6th edition, full of art and writing for the beloved latest installment: Wild Life! I knew I had to jump on the chance to write BigB of all people after devouring his POV <3 it was so much fun to write a piece that both encapsulated what BigB had going on with the Creaking throughout Wild Life and describe the actual events of his dripstone kill, and I had a blast working on it. Huge shout-out to everyone involved—please go check out their pieces, everyone did a wonderful job! (1012 words)

It was important to keep a very careful, watchful eye on him.

No one had been doing this, of course. Too many people had written BigB off as some sort of outlier to their pre-existing equations, pre-formed alliances. Not in a way that had made him the outcast of these situations, necessarily, but rather in a way that had most, if not all, of his friends with their guard down. 

Creaking should be watched for sudden movements after all, and nobody had been watching BigB. 

Well—they had been for a little, their gaze like prickling nettle when he’d caught Skizz in webbing and killed him. His friends’ eyes had slid off once he’d spoken—spoken something like revenge—a word realized more through action than physical tongue. He’d slunk off after that—after revenge—after another painful death. BigB had found himself back in the sanctuary (if he could even call it that anymore) of the 5Gs base. 4Gs. Whatever it was when he wasn’t there. 

He had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Cleo and Scott again, who had watched as he muttered out complaints about needing to get a good kill. It had been, as it had always been for a red-life, a bone deep urge, a physical necessity.

Cleo and Scott had mused in return—speaking the idea into existence wasn’t anything like doing it themselves, mind, and if BigB happened to pilfer the supplies from somewhere, then good!

He had felt their gaze on him then, like a mark on each eyespot on brown-grey skin. They’d given him an easy trap, like he asked:

Dripstone.

The trap had been deceptively simple, a practice BigB had been intimately familiar with since they’d first been able to cut away the sharp limerock. Cleo had fetched enough to make his carrying bags heavy. It weighed down his steps as he paced and thought over positioning. The setup would be easy to confine to the foyer of any base, easy for someone to step through a front door and down into a maw of dripstone points, easy enough to slice skin on impact. 

Why not try something even simpler, Cleo had told him: A staircase landing. 

BigB had run his tongue over his teeth at the thought, felt the pull of interconnected sight and hearts, as he felt out the server around him.

Jimmy had found him first, BigB’s hands still dusted with limestone and dirt after carefully packing closed his tunnel from under the Bamboozler’s staircase. Or rather, Jimmy had nearly run straight into him. Regardless of whether or not he had them, Jimmy clearly wasn’t using his eyes—physical, metaphorical, or otherwise.

Just short of knocking into him, he’d stopped, and smiled, and his gaze hadn’t felt like much of anything at all. Jimmy had simply moved around him with the ease that only another red-name could feel, smiling, laughing, like nothing in the world mattered more than the moment they were sharing. It had been odd in the same way that it had been welcome. 

If BigB had thought it over (as he was doing now, all in this singular moment), it was a recurring thread in the fabric of these games: he was easy to let his guard down around. It was as easy as breathing, as easy as willing the world to let him pass through the small, fragile fold of time and silence and into the next, moving beat, undetected. 

He had smiled back and had sensed the way Jimmy’s hair stood on end.

Stepping closer, Jimmy’s eyes had been wide to the whites as he looked down into the freshly-dug pit, and BigB had to swallow the urge that rose up in him, violent and oppressive.

If someone had been turning the staircase slow enough, they likely would have seen the perfect slice of ground missing, leaving only black in its wake. But no one did—not even when he had pointed it out, not even when he had stood so deliberately as to make sure that his chosen target was his only kill. 

If he were being honest, Jimmy had slipped into his role then—one he knew nothing of—perfectly, halting Martyn and Grian’s advance up the steps as the Creaking heart beat solid in BigB’s ears. He could feel the world slow around him like he were dragging his hands through something tangible, like time were threads. No eyes watched his movements—it was a cold and soothing relief to not be pinned in place. The world had gone quiet. Not a breath, not a brush of wind through grass. Not a rustle, or a flit, or a heartbeat besides his own. The world had tunneled down to the prickle along BigB’s spine.

Lizzie, laughing, had rounded the corner, and as she slipped, BigB felt the world click.

He breathes as the weight of the world startles him back into a sharp, painful reality.

All eyes turn to BigB for the first time.

He feels the words bubble up in his throat as he’s held in place. Jimmy’s voice, sharp and shrill and on the edge of laughing, startles him first.

“Son of a—” he yelps. “BigB!”

BigB yelps too—mostly a laugh more than anything, his own eyes flickering over the crowd now around him. 

“It wasn’t me!” he shouts. His mind scrambles to place blame—despite the obvious. His gaze snaps to Jimmy. “Jimmy! It was Jimmy!”

Jimmy splutters, squawking in protest, and as soon as most of the eyes leave him, BigB scrambles back, like a moth with its wings unpinned, a rabbit unstuck from a trap, pins and needles shocking through his stiffened limbs as he tumbles over his own feet. 

“It wasn’t me!” He jeers, throwing it behind his shoulder as he stumbles down the stairs. There’s footsteps after him. There are too many heartbeats in his ears—too many people scrambling. Too many letting him slip away. He can hear Scar’s voice above the rest, shouting in disbelief. But BigB’s feet hit the grass, and he’s out of sight.

Not enough people were watching. And that makes him very tricky to catch.

[stygiansauce]

Read Margin of Error

Fell in love with it

Head is now filled with scenarios

Now I need a jealous southern tango because my brain can’t shut up

(Feed us)

Possessive Tango certainly exsists. You'll actually get to see him a bit in chapter three (though its hidden under layers of plot). I think his idea of possession comes off much more like protection. He's a very caring and gentle lover. His anger doesn't fire up as much in this AU because, though his brain doesn't stop moving he lets his feelings wash through him. He acknowledges that he feels things, then moves on (except when he can't). He just cares so hard and gives so much of himself and protects with his whole being (not just Jimmy and thats what's so interesting about his character) that it doesn't even look like possession, but it is.

I'd like you to consider though (for reasons chapter three will explain. dear lord I promise it's almost done, we're almost out of the woods I can see the light), that Jimmy is the jealous and territorial one. Jimmy is the kind of character to over think. He'll roll thoughts around untill they don't make sense anymore. He tries to digest his feelings for Tango and because he can't he pushes the boundaries of thier relationship to find answers. ( "I don't see why we couldnt" he says while impulsivly touching his crush. GOD THEY'RE IDIOTS) He knows he has a crush on Tango. He knows he feels some kind of lust towards him. He has a very loose grasp on why Tango, though. I'm dropping so much Jimmy lore in chapter three. Like theres such a big chunk of his personality missing from the story right now that I needed to do a bit of character analysis before we go back to primarily Tango POV. I'm actually 90% sure that chapter four is all Tango.

Still, putting myself back on track. Tango's cannon character has that firecracker energy that we all know and love. In the life games it normally portrays itself as sharp anger, revenge, and quick-wit. MOE Tango will have his sharp anger moment, but untill then, a lot of his fire is put into flirting. He has very good self control ("Tango’s hands itch to reach out. He sets them on the table just behind him out of caution. He’s unsure. He’s almost never unsure, apprehensive, hesitant- any string of synonyms that will express how Jimmy is constantly tipping Tango over onto his head. The last time he had to physically stop himself like this was well before he left Texas."). But all resolve has to break somewhere :). Jimmy will push untill Tango is forced to shove and when it happens, it will be an explosion worth watching.

They're narrative foils your honor. They will always yin and yang eachother, its simply the law. (Probably one of my favorite possessive Tango scenes isn't untill much later at Jimmy's birthday party... I've said too much) Here are some tunes to add to the Possessive Tango fire. Not all of these are on the MOE playlist but are like unoffical anthems I regularly listen to when writing. Hope you understand - Del Water Gap Ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - Del Water Gap (Del Water Gap my beloved please stop making me feel things) Cry for me - HUNNY Hover like a GODESS - WILLOW

[acknowledge-reigns]

Reign 2: Aftermath | Roman Reigns x Black!Fem OC | 18+! | Royalty AU

Description: The Royal Family investigates Abigail's escape.

Chapter: 3/5

Face Claim: Megan Thee Stallion

Warnings: Dom/sub, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v.

This is a historical romance fanfiction and the sequel to Reign. As such some characters featured have their real names and some have their kayfabe ones. Example being Jey is Joshua because that fits with the time period and tone of the story better. Jimmy is Jonathan, Drew is referred to as Andrew. Zilla is Isayah. Whereas Roman, Solo, Naomi and many others mentioned keep their kayfabe names because I feel they can work anyways. This is regency era. Think Bridgerton. That along with the "Bridal Discipline" series of erotic novels by one of favorite authors Golden Angel is the inspo behind this one.

As always my stories are NOT about real people and does not reflect their character. While there is no smut in the first chapter, This is very much an 18+ BDSM based romance. If kink content isn't for you, please scroll. You have been warned.

Word count: 1,654

My masterlist can be found here.

👑 Taglist: @lov3rla03 @reignseclipse @acute-crashout-jeyuso

In their private chambers, Roman receives a report from one of his trusted advisors. "Your Majesty, Lady Abigail has not arrived at the transportation point to the island."

Georgiana's eyes widen with alarm. "What? She must have escaped. But how?"

Roman clenches his jaw, seething with anger. How could this happen?

The advisor continues nervously. "We've checked the transport routes, but there's no sign of her. She must have help."

Georgiana paces anxiously. "Someone's been working against us. Someone close to the palace." Her mind immediately goes to Paul, but she keeps her suspicions to herself.

Roman stands up abruptly. "Double the guards. We need to find her before she can plot anything against us."

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Days pass without any trace of Abigail, and the tension in the palace grows thicker. Georgiana feels restless and uneasy.

One night, during a private council meeting, she confronts Paul directly. "I know you're hiding something, Paul. What did you do with Lady Abigail?"

Paul feigns innocence, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Your Majesty, I assure you, I have nothing to do with this situation. But I agree that finding Lady Abigail should be our top priority."

Georgiana remains suspicious but knows she needs evidence. "I'll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on," she warns, her voice firm. "One false move and I won't hesitate to act."

Paul smirks darkly, clearly unfazed by the threat. "As you wish, Your Majesty." He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but he's already too deep to back out now.

Abigail and Paul continue their covert plans, plotting their revenge against the royal couple who tried to send her away.

Roman personally leads the investigation, interrogating servants and palace staff. "Whoever helped Lady Abigail escape, they will be found and punished severely," he declares.

Georgiana visits the servants' quarters, using her charm to extract information from those who might know something. Her background as a Commoner, a fisherman's daughter, was enough to earn her a report with most of their staff from the beginning.

Roman finds Georgiana in her private chambers, staring out the window with a distant expression. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Darling, I can see the worry in your eyes," he says softly. "We'll find her. I promise."

Georgiana turns to face him, her voice trembling slightly. "I keep thinking about what she might be planning this time.."

Roman pulls her into a comforting embrace, stroking her hair. "We'll be ready for whatever they throw at us. You're the strongest queen this kingdom has ever seen, and together, we'll protect our family." He holds her close, his heart aching at seeing her distressed.

Later that evening, Georgiana lies awake in bed, her mind racing with thoughts. Roman watches her worriedly, knowing she won't sleep.

"Can't sleep?" he whispers, his voice tender. She nods silently, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "Come here," he says, pulling her closer against him. "Let me help you relax."

His hands begin to wander over her body, gently massaging away the tension. His lips press soft kisses along her neck and shoulder.

"Focus on me," he murmurs, his voice deep and soothing. "Forget about Abigail and the investigation for a moment."

Georgiana responds to his touch, her body arching against his. The worries temporarily fade as pleasure takes over.

Roman kisses her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with increasing urgency. "I love you," he whispers against her lips. "Nothing will ever change that."

Roman's hands slide beneath her nightgown, his fingers tracing the curves of her body. The heat between them grows as their kisses become more intense.

He gently removes her nightgown, revealing her bare skin in the dim candlelight. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing down her neck to her breasts.

Georgiana moans softly as his mouth finds her nipples, his tongue teasing them into hard peaks. Her fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer as desire courses through her veins.

Roman's hands grip her hips as he moves lower, his mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses down her stomach. He parts her thighs and settles between them, his tongue tasting her wetness.

"So wet for me already," he growls against her skin, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. "Let me make you forget everything else." His tongue circles her clit while his fingers tease her entrance.

Georgiana writhes beneath him, her moans growing louder as pleasure builds within her. "Roman... yes... don't stop..."

Roman continues his skilled ministrations, pushing her closer to the edge. His fingers curl inside her while his tongue works her clit relentlessly.

Her walls flutter around his fingers as her orgasm approaches. "Roman... I'm going to... " Her words are cut off by a cry of pleasure as she comes hard against his mouth.

He laps up her juices greedily, his cock throbbing with need. He moves up her body, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, possessive kiss so she can taste herself on his lips.

"I need to be inside you," he growls against her mouth, positioning himself at her entrance.

With one powerful thrust, he enters her, filling her completely. Georgiana gasps at the sensation, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"So so perfect," he groans, starting to move inside her with long, deep strokes. The sound of their bodies joining fills the room, punctuated by their shared moans of pleasure.

His hips snap against hers faster, harder, driving them both closer to another climax. "Come for me again," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

Georgiana's walls clench around him as another orgasm crashes through her body. "Yes, My king!" she cries out, arching her back as pleasure courses through every nerve.

Roman follows her over the edge, spilling himself deep inside her with a deep growl. He collapses against her, their bodies slick with sweat and breathing heavily.

"I love you," he whispers again, pressing soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks. "No matter what happens, we'll face it together."

Georgiana wraps her arms around him, feeling safe and loved in his embrace. Her worries about Abigail and the investigation temporarily fade away, replaced by contentment and intimacy.

Roman holds her close, stroking her hair as they both drift off to sleep. The candlelight flickers dimly, casting shadows on the walls of their chambers.

Just as sleep begins to take them both, a soft knock sounds at the door. Georgiana tenses in his arms, knowing it's probably another report about Abigail.

Roman gently disentangles himself from her, reaching for his robe. "I'll handle it," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Stay here and rest."

He slips out of bed and opens the door to find a nervous servant standing there. The servant's face is pale as they whisper something urgent to Roman. His eyes widen with concern.

Roman thanks the servant and returns to the bed, his expression grave. "The guards have found something," he says quietly, sitting beside Georgiana. "A witness who may talk in exchange for a bounty"

Georgiana sits up, her heart racing. "Who is it? Where are they?" She can see the seriousness in Roman's eyes, knowing this could be their only lead.

"They're waiting in the dungeon," Roman replies, reaching for his clothes. "I need to speak with them immediately. Will you come with me?"

Georgiana quickly dresses in a simple yet elegant gown, her mind racing with possibilities. "Yes, I need to hear what they have to say."

They make their way to the dungeon, the air growing colder and more damp as they descend. The dim torchlight casts eerie shadows on the stone walls.

A guard leads them to a cell where a man who'd been detained for some unrelated crime sits huddled in the corner. The person looks up at them with fearful eyes, recognizing the royal couple.

"Your Majesties," the witness whispers, his voice shaking. "I-I have information about Lady Abigail's plans..."

Georgiana steps forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Speak," she commands, her voice firm but gentle. "What do you know about her?"

The witness glances nervously at Roman, then back to Georgiana. "She's been meeting with someone," he began hesitantly. "A man. He paid off the footman to turn the other way while she escaped."'

Roman clenches his jaw at this information, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Describe this man," he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

The witness swallows hard, trying to gather his courage. "I didn't get a good enough look at him, your majesty.."

Georgiana's expression hardens, disappointment flickering across her features. "That's all you have? Just meeting someone and a vague description?" She seems clearly frustrated.

The witness shrinks back further into the corner, "I-I swear that's all I know! But..." He hesitates, his eyes darting around nervously.

"But what?" Roman prompts, his patience wearing thin. "There must be more."

The witness nods eagerly, seeing an opportunity. "Y-yes, your majesty. I can tell you everything.. for a price." He looks at Roman hopefully.

Roman sighs and motions for the guard to bring coin. "Name it." He's growing increasingly frustrated with this game of information-for-money.

The witness's eyes light up at the sight of the gold coins. "Twenty gold pieces," he says quickly, clearly trying to make a good deal.

Georgiana scoffs at the amount. "That's borderline robbery," she protests, but Roman holds up a hand to stop her.

"10, and a reduced sentence." he says firmly, tossing the coins into the cell. "Now talk." His tone leaves no room for further negotiation.

The witness counts the coins, then tucks them away. "I still don't know much in the way of the man's identity." He begins, speaking faster now that they've secured payment. "However Lady Abigail made her intentions clear... she's coming for revenge. She wishes to be Queen."

Previous Chapter ●◉◎◈◎◉● Next Chapter

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

Past life wardens?? 👀

Past Life Wardens is what I'm currently calling an au of mine! Thus far, the plan is for it to be a collection of one-shots, but I'm not opposed to doing something multi-chapter if FinFault allows me the time/energy XD

(Writing snippet after the info)

The premise is that after being killed in the Life Series, all name-tagged wardens are reincarnated as warden-hybrid players on Hermicraft with the derivative code genetics of the player who named them. So the au centers around these three:

Rev (Rancher's Revenge) - she's the oldest and most level-headed of all of them. Her player data has her code derivative from Tango only, but he and Jimmy coparent and both utterly adore her. She spends most of her time on Hermitcraft with Tango since she's not one for world-hopping the way Jimmy is, and she helped out with parts of DO2. Like Tango, she's a fast learner with redstone, but what she really excels at is building. Although very quiet and reserved, Rev is incredibly chaotic and is often the ringleader of any antics the warden kids get up to. Her role model is her uncle Zed.

Dish (Etho's Dishwasher) - the second oldest of the warden kids, his code is derived from both Grian and Etho since one made the nametag and the other named the warden. Etho is a notoriously absent father, so Dish spends most of his time in Grian's social circle. He's skilled with an elytra, and Scar has taught him the art of the HoTGuY (and the art of the con). He loves watching the masters terraform and is beginning to learn the skill himself.

Goober - Etho's favorite. Goober is the youngest (and loudest) of the warden kids, but he's incredibly sweet and finds a lot of joy in gathering resources to give to other players for their builds. However, despite the kindness he shows most of the time, he is very much Rev's "gremlin little cousin," and he is eager to assist her and Dish with pranks (with Grian's motto of "prank hard, but clean up your messes after.") Etho is teaching him how to do redstone, which many players think is a bad idea. Do not let him near tnt.

Any future wardens in future Life Series seasons will be added to this au, and I will likely also feature my Team Rancher fan-kid Phoenix as Rev's younger sister. (I don't think I've talked about her before on here, but I'll likely talk about her more in a different post if people like this one.)

I've had this au for a few months now, and I am happy to keep writing or expand on it if people like it, so please lmk if you like this au idea! I really appreciate feedback on all of my works! :) <3

Now here's a snippet of the first one shot (currently unpublished) that I wrote for this:

Her darkness fades completely, a calm relief taking the place of the fear. It’s a new feeling too. All of these feelings are new. The room she’s in is small but open, and she can see all of it without needing to use any echolocation. There’s an entire wall of chests to her right, and the floor is made of packed mud with a rug depicting a shirtless player in the middle of it. She isn’t sure how she knows the words “chest” and “rug” and  “packed mud,” but she knows them all the same.  To her left is an expanse of cavern, empty save for a vague sense of intention, whatever that means. She can sense the other wardens of this world from where she sits, the sculk in all the spaces between emitting a faint aura of contentment. They like it here, wherever “here” is.  Other wardens? Or just wardens in general? She looks down at what she can see of herself. Her skin is the same dark greenish-navy it always was, but she has the hands of a player, the legs of a player, the torso of a player. Before now, she didn’t know what “warden” meant, nor did she comprehend that it was a term that applied to her. But now that she isn’t one, she understands that she used to be one.  The outfit she wears is not something she remembers putting on, but she likes it. It’s a knee-length black dress made of heavy wool, lined at the top and bottom hems with thick beige fur. The sleeves are longer than her arms, with matching fur at their hems too. A short beige and turquoise cloak rests on her shoulders overtop the dress, the part that covers her chest embroidered with decorative black ribs.  There is an object in her hand, and she brings it closer to her face to examine it, having been holding it without realizing the whole time. It’s a rectangle, perfectly sized to feel natural in her grasp, and the material it’s made of is indescribable by design.  “Communicator.” The term pops into her mind like a surprise gift.  She sees a series of words on it, ones she can read despite never having interacted with the concept of written language before: RanchersRevenge joined the game [joehillssays] howdy to a dish best served cold! [Xisuma] hello? [VintageBeef] that is not a name I recognize [Xisuma] me neither [Xisuma] new person, are you at spawn? [Xisuma] no one at spawn [Xisuma] where are you? [joehillssays] you might have to get their coords yourself if they don’t know how to use a comm  [Xisuma] the admin interface says they’re at Tango’s base Her attention lingers on that name. Tango. She knows that name.  “See? I’m not gonna hurt ya.” She doesn’t understand the language the player is speaking, but he sounds reassuring in his tone. He holds out a piece of steak. She takes it, pausing for a moment to inspect the meal before devouring it. “Well that must’ve been tasty.” He whisper-laughs below the sound threshold of the sculk sensors, reaching out to ruffle the turquoise fluff between her antlers. His touch is as warm as his flames. Soothing. Comforting. Ignoring her sense of instinct, she waddles closer to him, lightly bonking her forehead against his shoulder.  His expression melts with a squeak he fails to stifle. “Ah! Adorable with extra cute!” A sculk sensor chirps nearby, and he quickly scans their surroundings, shrinking down in alertness. “Now let’s skadoodle you up to the surface before we summon any of your friends.” He gently ties a nametag around her wrist. She can’t read it.

I deviated from the canon DL events just a little bit with this to make Tango more caring/parental towards Revenge in this au (rather than raging bc the game kept crashing irl while trying to bring a warden to the surface).

But yeah! Lmk if you want more of this au, and if so, I will very likely drop all of this one shot and write more (and draw some for it too) <3

[bellaxgiornata]

I Can't Lose You [part two]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k

Summary (slightly updated now): The night doesn't go as planned after being tasked by Amanda to seduce a rival drug lord in order to seal the deal for claim to more territory for the Kinsellas. When Michael finds out from his brother what happened, he's not happy with you for following Amanda's orders. Not only is he determined to get revenge on Titan, but he's even more determined to finally get the pair of you out of his family's business.

Warnings/tags: 18+; light angst, overprotective Mikey, love confession, smut

a/n: So this one shot turned into a short mini series. Who would've thought? Feedback is always appreciated! The first part and following parts can be found here.

Tag List: @danzer8705 @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza (kept everyone from the first one so if you'd like to be added or removed please let me know!)

Renewed rage was coursing white hot through Michael’s veins as he stopped before the front door of Amanda and Jimmy’s house. As soon as he’d made his way down your drive after that enlightening conversation with you–one that he had been very reluctant to leave–and saw their house at the end of the street, Michael had seen red. Immediately he’d become pissed off all over again at what Amanda had set you up to do tonight. It had been far beyond out of line for her to order you to do what she had, and he had every intention of making sure Amanda damn well knew that. 

She’d never try to whore you out again for a job when he was done with her.

Raising a fist, he began to furiously and rapidly bang against the door, his knuckles stinging from the impact. He didn’t let up with his pounding, either. He stood on their front porch taking out some of his fury on the heavy wooden door until he heard the click of the lock in between slams of his fist. Only then did he stop, his shoulders heaving with his sharp, frenzied breaths as his brother swung the door open. The expression on Jimmy’s face as he eyed Michael’s livid one made it apparent that he wasn’t remotely surprised by his visit.

“Wondered what took ya so damn long to show up,” Jimmy said plainly. “Figured you’d be here fumin’ at some point after I told ya what happened.”

“Went to see if she was alrigh’ first since ya said she was hurt,” Michael grunted out, roughly pushing past his brother and making his way inside. “Can’t fuckin’ believe ya went along with that shite plan. Absolutely fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Figured ya knew what was goin’ on tonight,” Jimmy replied, closing the door after his brother. “Amanda never said otherwise.”

Michael spun on his heel, his jaw clenching. “I'd have never agreed to that and ya both know it. Now Amanda’s goin’ to reap the consequences of her actions,” he grit out. “‘Cause ‘m’not lettin’ this fuckin’ slide. So where the fuck is she?”

“She’s just–”

“I’m right here, Michael,” Amanda said, cutting her husband off as she sauntered out of the kitchen, her heels clicking along the floor with each step. “And there’s no need for all the hostility.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her, his back straightening. The flat and uninterested look on her face had his temper flaring even more. She looked as if she couldn't have cared remotely about the danger she had put you in this evening or the way you'd been hurt. That had the corner of his left eye twitching as he glared dangerously back at her across the entryway. 

He certainly wasn't going to leave until he made her understand what a huge mistake she'd made this evening.

“No need?” he ground out, taking a threatening step towards her. “Are ya fuckin’ jokin’, Amanda?”

Amanda’s own eyes narrowed to slits in return, her arms crossing over her chest as she kicked a hip out. “I sent her out on a job, Mikey,” she replied firmly. “‘Cause that’s what she does for this family. Jobs that need to be done. Same as anyone else. And we needed that northern expansion, ya already know that. We’ve got more product than we can push in the territory we already run. We need more buyers if we're goin’ to be bringin’ in any more cash.”

Michael’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles still stinging from where he’d pounded them against the door. It was taking all of his willpower not to start taking swings at Amanda with all the anger burning inside of him. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t imagining knocking that smug look off of her face at her words. Because she’d willingly put you in danger all for the sake of a chance at making more money.

Your safety was non-negotiable in this business when it came to Michael. Amanda had always known that. It was something that had always pissed her off, causing her jealousy to flare up whenever he brought it up during meetings, putting his foot down on jobs she'd try to send you on that he knew wouldn't be safe. Ones he took instead. Yet she often tried to find ways to poke at that by putting you in situations he didn’t agree with but couldn't rightly counter. All because she was jealous that he’d been in love with you for all of these years and not her, leaving her to ‘settle’ for Jimmy instead. And thankfully nothing serious had ever happened from her bullshit schemes–until now. 

“We need the expansion, yeah,” Michael agreed, tone low and venomous, “but that wasn’t how we were talkin’ ‘bout gettin’ it. Ya already know that, Amanda. Ya went behind my back and set this up yourself.”

“Because we had a last minute meetin’ practically fall in our lap!” Amanda snapped, throwing her hands out wide in exasperation. “What would ya have wanted me to do, Michael? Let the opportunity to negotiate slip between my damn fingers? Is that it?”

“I expect ya to make the right fuckin’ call!” he roared back. “Ya should’ve sent me in to negotiate! That was the plan all along! I was supposed to handle Titan– not her!”

Amanda rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly as she did. That only further pissed him off, his teeth grinding together as the corner of his eye began to twitch faster. The control he had on his rage was beginning to slip with every word that came out of her mouth.

“Ya were unavailable ‘cause ya were with Anna earlier today,” Amanda shot back. “I needed someone right then–and it needed to be a Kinsella or someone damn near close. Titan would’ve never negotiated with anyone too low rankin’ in the business. And we both know Viking is too hot-headed to handle negotiations. Your brother here isn't much for it, either.”

“Hey!” Jimmy cried out, offended. “That’s a load of shite, Amanda, and you know it!”

Her head darted in her husband’s direction, her eyes cold as she snapped at him. “Stay outta this, Jimmy.”

Michael noticed the way his brother’s composure changed, his body tensing at her order. Though it wasn’t a surprise to him when he said nothing further, quietly seething across the room instead. Jimmy usually always backed down to Amanda, which was partly how she wound up in the position she was in now. Especially because Michael wanted to get you and himself out of the business; running it was the last thing he’d ever want.

“Then why’d ya send her in like a cheap fuckin’ whore, Amanda?” Michael growled, taking another threatening step towards her. “How was that a good fuckin’ plan? Ya could've sent her there just to make a deal, plain and simple. Ya know she’s smart.”

“Come off it, Michael,” Amanda shot in distaste. “It's practically common knowledge that the Titan loves his pussy. I didn’t ask her to fuck him, I only asked her to show interest. Get him comfortable enough so he'd fold to our demands easier.”

“Yeah?” Michael asked, his voice low as he stalked steadily towards her. 

He caught the slight flicker of fear that briefly flashed in her eyes at his approach.

A part of him delighted in the sight of it after what she'd done to you–what she'd let happen to you. Something that never should have happened. 

Good , he thought, lip curling back into a sneer. You damn well know what I'm capable of. You should be afraid after what you knowingly did tonight.

“If that was the case,” he continued evenly, aware of her arms crossing back over her chest, her own shoulders squaring as she tried to hide the growing fear in her eyes at his continued advance, “then ya could've dressed in that short little dress and pushed your tits into his face yourself, Amanda. Should've played the role o’ whore all on your own if ya want the expansion so badly. Ya claim you’re a Kinsella, yeah?”

Amanda stumbled a step backwards as Michael neared, lowering his face down to hers. Her back hit the wall though, leaving her stuck trying to hold onto the facade of strength while he towered over her. 

“Better yet,” he continued quietly, every ounce of anger still very apparent in his words as he invaded her space, “ya could've fucked him yourself. Could’ve let him put his fuckin’ hands all over ya. Why not make him fold to your demands by suckin’ his cock all on your own instead of sendin’ someone else to do it? Shoulda gotten your own hands fuckin’ dirty for once.”

“I’m married, Michael,” she weakly shot back. 

A bitter, humorless laugh slipped out of him immediately. Out of all the excuses she could have used, that was the one she was going to go with? 

“Your marriage is barely hangin’ by a thread,” Michael retorted. “And your vows sure as shit never stopped ya from fuckin’ ‘round before. It’s ‘cause ya don’t have the goddamn nerve for this business. Ya sit here in your house bossin’ the rest o’ us ‘round, doin’ your biddin’ and playin’ innocent housewife. But the truth is ya don’t really have the stomach for this. Not when it really matters. Ya never fuckin’ did.” 

Amanda scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s bullshit, Michael. I don’t do the jobs ‘cause that’s what the rest o’ ya are for.”

Blind fury shot through Michael at her words. Without hesitation, his right hand flew forwards until his palm slammed forcefully against the wall mere inches from Amanda’s head. Satisfaction flooded Michael as she visibly flinched in response, her eyes flying just over his shoulder. No doubt looking to Jimmy for help. But Michael knew his brother well enough. He wasn’t going to say a goddamn thing. He wasn’t going to intervene. 

“We do not and have never issued orders for our associates to fuck anyone, Amanda,” Michael growled viciously. “Or to even give someone very dangerous like the Titan that fuckin’ idea only to put our associates in the position where they would either have to or face the fuckin’ consequences of embarrassin’ someone so powerful.” His hand slammed loudly against the wall in his rage and Amanda once again flinched. “Ya damn well knew what was goin’ to happen when ya asked her to do that tonight!”

“Well she–she works for me, Michael,” Amanda countered. “She’s mine to send out as I see fit. She could’ve–”

“YOU DO NOT OWN HER!” Michael roared, ramming his fist into the wall beside her head for emphasis and watching as she shrunk before him. His entire body felt like it was burning with his fury now. “And ya will never send her on a job like that again! Am I fuckin’ clear , Amanda?”

“Ya aren’t the one in charge, Michael!” Amanda fired back.

Furious, Michael pushed off of the wall and took a few steps back, turning and maneuvering around Jimmy who was watching him in silent curiosity. Reaching up, he grabbed onto the long, decorative mirror hanging on the wall beside the front door. Effortlessly he removed it from the hooks before turning back around and throwing it forward. It smashed on the floor just beside Amanda’s feet shattering loudly as glass spilled forth and clattered all over the floor next to her designer heels. 

His glare returned to her shocked face, his own set firm as a hand rose to cover her mouth. He needed to make her understand that she’d crossed a line. She needed to know she couldn’t fuck with you like she thought she could. That she didn't hold the kind of power she thought she did.

“Let's get one thing straight. Fuckin’ a Kinsella doesn’t make ya one,” he ground out. “I could throw ya from this business just as easily as that goddamn mirror, Amanda. Step out o’ line with her one more time like that, and I promise ya, no one’ll be listenin’ to a fuckin’ word ya say anymore. Am I clear ?”

“Fine,” Amanda bit out between her teeth.

“Don’t fuckin’ test me on this again,” he warned, pointing a threatening finger at her. “Ya won’t like what happens if ya do, I can promise ya that.”

Michael turned, focusing on his brother who’d remained silent throughout most of the confrontation. There was still one other issue that needed to be dealt with while he was here. Judging by the look of resignation that washed over Jimmy’s face, he already knew what was coming.

“This won’t go unanswered,” Michael told his brother. “O’Brien can’t go beatin’ our associates and gettin’ away with it. Ya know that, brother.”

“Aye,” Jimmy muttered, nodding his head. “Figured you’d be sayin’ that.”

“We are not startin’ a war with him!” Amanda cried out. “That’s the last thing we need right now!”

Michael’s head whipped over his shoulder in her direction, his eyes shooting her a dark glare that had her mouth closing. “Ya don’t have a damn say in this one, Amanda. Keep your damn mouth shut,” he ordered. His attention returned back to Jimmy who was standing there waiting for him to continue. “I’m takin’ him down for what he did to her. Are ya with me or not, brother?”

Jimmy’s eyes fell down to his feet, a hand running over his beard as he mulled over the question for a moment. Gradually he nodded again, his gaze slowly returning to meet Michael’s. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “‘Course I’m with ya, brother. We’ll take him down and find a way to take his territory with it, one way or another.”

“Good,” Michael stated, ignoring the way Amanda was clearly fuming from across the entryway. “We’ll figure out the details later. Just need to know ya have my back on this.”

“I always got your back, brother,” Jimmy assured him. “Ya know that.”

Michael stepped towards him, reaching a hand out and appreciatively clapping his brother on the shoulder. His anger was still there, burning inside of him, but he was grateful for Jimmy right now. At least he could be counted on and trusted, even if he wished he’d put a bullet in the Titan’s head the moment he tried to lay a finger on you earlier. That’s what he would’ve done.

“Ya headin’ back over there?” Jimmy asked. “To her place?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied, ignoring the irritated huff Amanda let out. “Had to come over here and deal with this mess first. Which I…really didn’t want to do after talkin’ with her. Apparently she’s felt the same way all this time and I’ve just been…blind to it.”

Jimmy sent his brother a small smile, clapping him on the shoulder with a hand in return. “‘Bout damn time ya fools took your heads outta your asses,” he teased. “Go on then,” he said, gesturing his head towards the door. “Go get your girl, Mikey.”

[lowres720]

Bunny and the Junkyard Dog

WARNINGS MDNI 18+ Content

Chapter 13! Max it out and then double it

AJ held Y/N’s hand like they were making a blood pact.

“We’re not just getting mani-pedis,” she said, eyes gleaming with war. “We’re getting full blown revenge I really hate being ignored..”

“Why do I feel like I just enlisted in something illegal?” Y/N mumbled as they rounded the hotel lobby corner nearly smacking right into the girl brigade.

“Because you did, Buns,” Naomi grinned, popping her gum as she caught up behind them. “Now shut up and look cute.”

“I know I already do,” Brie Bella called as she strutted past in a Juicy Couture tracksuit that screamed 2007 and revenge sex.

Nikki adjusted her sunglasses and smirked. “We’re not just spending their money today we are breaking their poor egos and steroid brains."

“Also,” Galina(Roman’s wife)added casually, “Joe has been an asshole for three days, so I need this more than air.”

Y/N laughed before asking. “What did he do?”

“Jesus Christ.. okay so he basically embarrassed me in front of some very important clients and then he had the audacity to get mad at ME like it was my fault so we've been on and off fighting for the last three days.” the girls just nodded in solidarity before heading to the spa.

At the spa the refined receptionist didn’t even flinch when seven high-profile WWE women came through the door like they were storming the Capitol.

She just smiled. “Group appointment today ladies?”

“Yup,” AJ said sweetly. “Girls’ day. No boys allowed. Also? Charge everything to their cards.”

She handed over a stack of cards.

One by one.

Roman’s AmEx, Punk and Jimmy’s Visa being tossed in the mix.

Dean’s Mastercard, slightly bent on the corner. (Y/N had fished it out of his gym bag after he grumbled “use it if you want, just don’t tell me what you bought.” what an idiot.)

And thus, the ritual began.

Manicures pedicures full body massages with hot stones and oils.

Facials with 24K gold leaf and collagen masks.

Galina got hers in silence like she was plotting to rewire the Reigns family tree. Naomi got hers while FaceTiming Jimmy, cackling every time he realized how much she was spending. "Girl I KNOW you ain't hitting the card limit again today!"

Y/N melted into her massage so hard she drooled into the cushion and whispered, “This is better than watching the guys practice at the PC....”

“Please don’t say that,” AJ mumbled. “Now I’m thinking about my husband naked.”

Nikki was getting her hair blow-dried straight while sipping cucumber water like she ran a spa's mafia.

Brie kept threatening to text Bryan every time she saw a guy in the spa she thought was hot just to mess with his head.

And then came the group chat.

AJ made it.

Group Name: The Beauty Budget (feat. Your Money, Idiots)

Added Members:

AJ

Bunny

Naomi

Nikki

Brie

Galina

Punk

Dean

Jimmy

Roman

Bryan

John

AJ: Updates from the girls’ day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And then it started.

Pictures.

Nothing fully explicit but evil.

Skin glistening under oils, steam-softened collarbones, legs tangled in plush robes, cleavage just visible in bath towels.

Y/N took one of her laying across the massage table with a golden face mask, mid-giggle, her feet kicked up in the air and the caption: “your girl is sweating and it’s NOT from cardio”

Dean didn’t respond immediately.

But then...

Dean : Don’t make me leave the gym. Buns: But we’re just relaxing JonJon. You guys are too busy remember? Dean : Stop texting in the group. I will break that spa door down. Punk : You’re not invited. Also, I’m in the gym bathroom right now screaming Ape. AJ : [Sends a pic of her legs over a towel with Punk’s name painted on her toenails] Punk : WHAT THE FUCK.

“Worth it,” AJ giggled in real time, blowing on her nails.

Naomi leaned over to Y/N, “Wanna send Dean something slutty but also ambiguous?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Like, just your knee and your panties. Real blurry. Caption it ‘massage got me feelin’ loose.’ Watch him lose it.”

“…You are actually evil.”

But she did it and she was scared as to what was next.

After hours of pampering, the girls spilled out into the local mall like spoiled royalty. They hit Victoria’s Secret first.

“Only buy shit you know he can’t ignore,” Brie instructed.

“Or stuff you plan to leave on the floor,” Nikki added. "Or you dont mind buying to have them ripped off"

Y/N tried to ease in slowly to the world of lace and sin but AJ shoved a raunchy red lace bodysuit in her hand. “This one. Don’t think. Just get it.”

“I don’t even know if I can breathe in this. I think ill pop out of it in three different places...”

“Who cares? He’s gonna tear it off anyway.”

Later, while in line at checkout:

Galina: This is the most productive use of Roman’s paycheck I’ve ever seen.Hopefully he gets his head out of his ass long enough for me to show him all these new buys. Naomi: I’m only buying things I plan to make Jimmy apologize in. Buns: [Sends pic of her shopping bag with Dean’s card with the receipt wrapped around it clearly visible inside] Dean : What did you buy. Buns: I’ll model it if you ask nice.

No reply.

Until… separate from the group chat she got the message

Deany the meanie : [Image: Him holding a gym weight mid-lift, jaw tight, veins bulging shirtless] Deany the meanie : “Get back here. Now.”

Y/N squeaked audibly.

“I hate you all for making me do this...”

“You’re welcome,” Nikki said taking a peek at her screen. " Now let's really break these jerks! AJ booked us a suite for a mini fashion show!" Everyone grabbed their bags and followed the Spa Mafia leader who was hellbent on making the guys suffer.

The hotel suite smelled like coconut lotion, perfume, and pure vengeance.

Women fresh from their spa-induced glow and hell-bent on making their men suffer—unloaded armfuls of pink tissue-stuffed bags, tissue rustling like battle flags.

Sandals and flip flops kicked off. Robes tossed onto the beds someone turned on the club music

“Alright girls ” AJ announced, flinging herself dramatically onto the king-sized mattress, “it’s time for a fashion show.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Wait we’re actually… trying this on? like Together?”

Nikki raised a brow. “Girl, we’ve seen each other ass-out in locker rooms and oil-drenched for photo shoots. You think I’m shy now?”

Galina nodded. “I had the baby and was breastfeeding in catering. Modesty died a long time ago buns.”

“Besides,” Brie chimed, shimmying out of her jeans, “it’s not about modesty. It’s about maximizing impact.”

Naomi flopped onto the bed next to AJ, pulling a teddy out of a hot pink bag. “We’re sending teasers, not straight pornos. That’s how you get the group chat to implode.”

Phase One: Try-On

The room became a blur of lace, straps and laughter.

Robes slipped off like old skins. New lingerie snapped into place. Straps adjusted, cups fluffed, thighs re-situated.

Y/N stood by the mirror in a strappy wine-colored set that made her thighs look illegal and cupped her ass look like a goddamn gift basket.

AJ handed her a glass of prosecco. “You’re wearing that one when Dean gets back.”

“Assuming he makes it back alive,” Brie muttered, adjusting the sheer mesh babydoll she’d bought just to drive Bryan insane.

Nikki snapped her bra in place and checked her reflection. “How do I look?”

“Like an actual pornstar...” Naomi deadpanned.

“Perfect. It might be time for a career change soon.”

Y/N giggled but paused as she looked down at herself. “Are we seriously doing the selfie thing? I feel a little stupid like this”

“We’re doing the tease thing,” AJ corrected, slipping into a rose-gold set that was technically a bra and thong, but barely.

“No nips. No cooch. Just enough to cause a little confusion,” Nikki smirked.

“Exactly,” Galina added. “Enough to start a war.”

Phase Two: The Selfie

They regrouped in matching spa robes fluffy, soft, monogrammed. Naomi stood behind them with the phone. “Alright, ladies. I’m counting to three. Show just a little skin.”

“One…”

They adjusted—flashing one leg, one curve, one sultry look.

“Two…”

Towels loosened just slightly.

“Three—Suffer Boys!”

Y/N had chickened out and cinched her robe tight.

AJ leapt onto her with a squeal, dragging it back open just enough to show the tiniest peek of her matching wine-colored bra.

Click.

Flash.

Snap.

Done.

Sent to the group chat:

The Beauty Budget (feat. Your Money, Idiots) AJ: Mood: fresh, flirty, and just out of your reach 💕 Attached: a group mirror selfie absolute bombshells in spa robes with just the right amount of cleavage, lace, thigh, and smugness. The lingerie colors popped against the robes. The girls looked like sin wrapped in satin.

Immediate Fallout

Dean : Where. Are. You. Jimmy : I just made a sound my grandma probably heard from heaven. Roman : I’m gonna need Galina to open the door right now. Punk : AJ. Babe. I’m on my knees. What room. Tell me. Please. Bryan : Is that Brie’s ankle? I know that ankle. Naomi : Y’all are struggling. Also WHERE is John??Come get your girl! Buns: For the record... I was technically kidnapped by April Dean : I swear to God I will tear this entire floor apart looking for you John: I"m not getting involved AJ : Hotel Scavenger Hunt: Sin Edition. Nikki : Winner gets a girlfriend and or Wives back. Galina : Roman’s probably already bribing the front desk.

Meanwhile Downstairs

Down in the hotel lobby, Dean Roman and Punk were standing at the check-in desk, sweaty from the gym, not their most charming selves.

“We need a room and key to the room” Dean said, calm but terrifying. “Please.”

The desk clerk blinked. “I’m… sorry?”

Roman leaned on the counter. “We need a card to that room my wife’s in there. And she’s not picking up her phone.”

“And mine just sent me a thirst trap in a towel with AJ’s head in the corner of the shot like a goddamn goblin. God knows what else those girls are getting into in that room”

The clerk paled. “Uhh..Sir well Sirs....we can’t—”

“Please,” Dean muttered, nearly shaking. “This is life or death.”

Roman sighed, then pulled out his wallet cards very much missing but at least he had cash on hand. “If I tip you a hundred bucks, do you accidentally tell me the name the room’s booked under?”

The clerk looked around.

Then whispered, “ Its under a 'BabyApe'. Room 723, but look really i can't give you a key for it.”

Dean’s eyes lit up.

Back upstairs, Y/N was crawling across the bed trying to get a better angle for a booty-popping boomerang when she heard it

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The door.

“OPEN UP,” A voice growled.

Y/N was mid-sip of a cucumber spritzer when the first knock rattled the door like a battering ram.

She froze with the glass tipped slightly in her fingers. "Okay. That….was aggressive."

Naomi crept to the door, peering through the peephole like she was casing a crime scene. “Oh shit. We done did it now ladies”

AJ was lounging on the bed in nothing but a fluffy robe and smugness. “Which one of them is it? Ro? Dean? let me guess its Bryan!”

Naomi whispered like she was in a spy thriller. “All. Of. Them.”

Brie’s eyes widened. “All?”

“Roman. Dean. Phil. Jimmy. I think Bryan’s there too. Oh—and Seth for some reason? Again where the fuck is John?!”

“Seth?” Nikki said, cocking her head. “He doesn’t even have a girlfriend here.”

“Apparently he’s just here for the drama,” Naomi replied.

Another knock—this time followed by a familiar growl that vibrated through the door and straight down Y/N’s spine.

“Bunny. Open the door.”

Y/N’s soul momentarily left her body. She looked like a deer in headlights torn between wanting to open the damn door and running under the bed.

AJ looked over from the bed, raising an eyebrow. “Ohhh he’s in that tone.”

“I am not opening that door,” Y/N whispered. “He’s gonna-”

“Ruin you? Defile you? Wreck you like youve never been wrecked before in your little cute virgin life?” Galina offered helpfully. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Okay well then I definitely am not opening that door.”

The knob jiggled.

And then a voice-Roman’s, deep and calm, but with an edge—rumbled through the wood. “Ladies. Last warning. Open the door or we are gonna kick it in and we’re all gonna get fined.”

AJ reached for the knob and cracked the door a few inches. “Hi, baby—”

Phil pushed the door all the way open. AJ stumbled backward, nearly crashing into Brie who shouted, “Well shit—”

The guys poured in like a platoon.

Roman first, dead silent, his jaw clenched and eyes locked onto Galina like she was prey. Dean followed, hoodie half-zipped, gym bag slung over one shoulder, murder in his eyes.

Jimmy walked in backwards mid-sentence. “I swear to God if I see even one strap of lace—”

Naomi waved from behind the couch. “Hey, babe.”

“YOU,” Jimmy barked, immediately leaping over the armrest.

“What the hell is happening right now?” Y/N whispered as she ducked behind a curtain.

“Armageddon,” Nikki muttered, already sneakily heading toward the bathroom. “With towels.”

Roman didn’t yell. He didn’t raise a hand or make a scene. He just stood there watching.

Galina tried to walk past him, one hand on her bag, chin lifted like she wasn’t wearing a backless black bodysuit designed solely to make a man ruin his evening plans.

“Galina,” he said quietly. “Stop.”

She paused, not turning around feeling her heart fluttering in her chest reminding her of their first time being together.

Roman stepped closer, gently grabbing her by the wrist. “You bought this today?”

“Yes I did.”

“You showed it to the group chat.”

“Also yes...”

“You didn’t show it to me.”

She smirked and finally turned to look up at him. “Well to be fair you were also in the groupchat so I didn’t think you needed the preview.”

His jaw flexed. “I’m about five seconds from ending this little show altogether.”

Galina didn’t respond.

She just reached up and tugged his shirt collar trying to pull him for a kiss hoping it would settle him just a bit.

But he caught her by the waist, lifted her clean off the ground, and walked her straight into the bedroom next door.

Seth watched the entire thing going down between all the couples wondering if her should call Becky to get involved just for the hell of it.

Naomi dodged left. Jimmy followed. It was a like watching a cat corner a mouse. She zigzagged behind a chair. Jimmy climbed over it.

“Did you run track in high school?” he shouted.

“Cheer, baby. Low center of gravity.”

“You sent a picture of your ass captioned ‘blessed and stressed’ while I was mid-rep Trin! ”

“And you left me on read last night!”

Jimmy caught her by the hips as she tried to vault over the bed.

“I was playing 2K with Jey!”

“You suck at 2K!”

“gasp I do not!!”

They collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and arguments and laughter. Before she surrendered they watched the other couples still trying to figure shit out.

Punk stepped into the room, hair slightly damp, eyes bloodshot from whatever ungodly pre-workout concoction he’d taken.

AJ sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping tea like a forest sprite. “You okay, baby?”

“No.”

“You look so handsome. Did I mention that yet?"

“Don’t.”

“You could’ve texted me. Called. Maybe communicated.”

“You sent me a spa thirst trap collage, April.”

“I thought it was tasteful.”

He stared with a very unimpressed look. “You drew my name on your toes.” He sat beside her slowly. “I swear, one day, I’m gonna tie you to a chair just so I can have ten minutes of peace.”

AJ shrugged. “Kinky can we try that right now?”

Y/N really did try to sneak out the room to make it across the hall, she watched all the couples slowly give in to their men and she feared for her little life.

She didn’t even make it halfway before she felt the hand. Dean caught her by the wrist his fingers warm and strong, grip firm but not hurting.

She turned slowly. He looked….wrecked. Flushed. Jaw tight. Veins in his forearms like they’d been punching the air since the gym.

“You ran?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

“I thought maybe you’d be a bit more-”

“—Cool? Calm? Collected?”

“…Yeah something like that"

Dean tugged her closer, eyes scanning every inch of her robe. “Take it off.”

“What? My robe?”

“Now.”

Y/N shook her head, backing up slightly. “But dean, everyone’s still here—”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

She hesitated. He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that made her legs weak. “Do you know what you did to me today?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oohh yes, you did. You teased me. Taunted me. Texted me moans from a spa table. I swear to God, Bunny, if you don’t drop that robe, I’m going to rip it off you and make you pay for every second I spent imagining what’s underneath.”

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

And then she did it—slowly, cheeks burning.

The robe slipped down her shoulders, pooling at her elbows, revealing the wine-colored set he hadn’t even fully seen yet.

Dean just stared.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to grab her lift her and bend her over the nearest surface but he waited.

She blinked up at him. “Still mad?”

Dean exhaled like a man trying not to commit a felony.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

“You promise?” her bratty side still somewhat there even though inside she was screaming at what's to come.

He reached behind her knees, lifted her into his arms, and muttered, “Too late to beg, sweetheart. You brought this on yourself.” Carrying her to their shared room.

[blueishspace]

Last Life with divine domains

Part 2: Session 1 & 2.

Lives

First, lives remain the same so:

Scar, Pearl and Tango have 6 lives.

Joel has 5 lives.

Bdubs, Etho, Martyn, Lizzie and Mumbo have 4 lives.

BigB, Impulse, Skizz have 3 lives.

Grian, Ren, Scott, Jimmy and Cleo have 2 lives.

Session 1

Bdubs is still chosen as the boogeyman for this session.

Scar links *rolls randomizer* Scott and Pearl for the session.

Grian's ability tells him that only one boogeyman is active.

Martyn gets these 3 random rules to choose from: "Everyone must wear leather boots", "No one is allowed to use axes" and "Everyone must give an item to every person they meet". I'm going to say he chooses the last one as the first two are just annoying.

Scott still find Pearl and promises friendship for a life, this time he doesn't need to find a cold biome as one of his abilities can change a 64x64 area into the ice plains biome so he can just settle down anywhere... Also being linked is another reason to work together for this.

Grian still "steals" Scar's life but as Scar's origin/domain allows him to gift one life a session without losing lives he doesn't lose anything.

Scar boogeyman stunt works as well as canon... aka, only BigB falls for it.

BdoubleO fools Grian and... yeah, Grian still dies. Didn't see that coming did he?... Please laugh.

When Mumbo is asked to choose is when changes truly start to happen because the most Grian can offer is sugarcane and maybe some resources but Scar can offer his bonus gifted life at the start of the next session...so uh... War and Love team (Scar's domain is technically Connection and not love but shhhhhh).

Tango still makes the betting game. Etho, Joel and Bdubs all bet one life and Lizzie still creates the fairy fort.

Magic Mountain still forms but with the addition of Mumbo in the mix, wonder how this will go. Is it still called magic mountain? Yeah, probably.

Pearl ends her session by gifting a life to Scott and Scott setting the 64x64 area in the Scottage.

Lives

Tango has 9 lives.

Scar has 6 lives.

Pearl has 5 lives.

Joel, Martyn, Lizzie and Mumbo have 4 lives.

BigB, Etho, Scott, Bdubs, Impulse, Skizz have 3 lives.

Grian, Ren, Jimmy and Cleo have 2 lives.

Session 2

Scar and Joel are still the boogeyman, Grian discovers that two boogeyman exist.

Scar links Grian and Jimmy's healthbars as revenge for Grian scamming him at the start of last season. He then (after some haggling) makes good on his promise and gifts Mumbo this sessions bonus life cementing the alliance.

Martyn is given these 3 rules to choose from for the session: Everyone is allowed to wear helmets. Everyone must keep their left hand free. No one is allowed to wear chestplates. (Another bout of boring ones sigh) He choses the helmets as the other two are kinda meh.

Joel and Scar still discover they are both boogeymen and work together to get kills, Mumbo works on the Magic Mountain base.

Cleo gives Tango sugarcane for a life, that doesn't change.

Mumbo...doesn't go into the Nether with Martyn as they don't have a reason to go together...and he's not the guy to go alone... Martyn is so I think he dies in Mumbo's stead. We get brute boy 3 seasons earlier.

Now, Joel attacks Lizzie and in the process dies... Lizzie probably uses her storm summoning ability as she is stronger during storms...that is good for her as it stops the mobs from getting her and for Scott as it causes snow to form in his base.

BEST still forms... Day, Mist, Poison and Hearth... That's one interesting group.

Mumbo being part of magical mountain means he doesn't kill Joel and allows him to get a kill on Martyn...but also means that Scar doesn't kill him... so Joel is cured...but Scar isn't.

This means that Martyn has no opportunity to sneak Ren Nether Wart.

I want to say Lizzie doesn't bet on Joel going red first for Tango's game...it isn't like secret life's dye for debris trade because she knows how lives work more then netherite.

Scar still goes to Scott and Pearl... though instead of trapping their base like Joel he just threatens them like he did in session 1 and kills Scott when he refuses...and is then killed by Pearl.

The enchanting table remains safe in Joel's (and therefore Magical Mountain) inventory and Lizzie only gives away a life for Ren's assistance.

Pearl gives Scott another life to avoid the risk of being alone.

Our session 2 ends with Scar alone on top of a mountain, here we find Scar Mumbo and Joel as the most powerful team in the server both in lives and enchanting table... Southlanders are really not doing well in this timeline.

Lives p.2

Tango has 8 lives.

Scar has 5 lives.

Mumbo and Pearl have 4 lives.

BigB, Etho, Lizzie, Joel, Ren, Bdubs, Cleo, Impulse, Skizz and Scott have 3 lives.

Grian, Martyn and Jimmy have 2 lives.

Fandom

You know the drill, I'm here to beg for comments once more... Also curious what @shortystack75 and @easily-distracted-by-fandom will say.

Previous part

Next Part

First Part

[miimo96]

Thoughts on My Adventures with Superman S2 episode 6

God where Do I even begin, Ok 1st off Kara is Really talking like a whole Damn Supervillain here, the way the camera just Zooms in on her as She says that her and Clark are going to bring back the kryptonian Empire is really sending me Chills down my spine, like they really Want you to establish that Kara is a Villain in this series, even tho I Still think she's being controlled by Brainiac/Primus somehow, Secondly correct if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure that Superman is supposed to be able to breathe in Space, like I Never understood that concept of Why he would Need a Space suit like even in the animated series they did that, I mean sure it looks cool but the Dude's an Alien for a reason He should be able to breathe in space No problem, unless has it something to do with him being So used to our Earth's atmosphere than that's a Different story, but in my opinion, it just feels unnecessary

Judging from this Scene You can Really tell how much Kara really is just stuck in the past, the way She refers to the citizens here as "Citizen 1 and 2" and "Food citizen" Really shows how little she remembers or even Knows about krypton, almost like if She's just been replaying this simulation for so long and has this little memory to go off of what Krypton SHOULD be, Like This Really is all she has about her people and The Planet, and the fact she even acknowledges these people are Gone still Refuses to accept that She's lonely, Really shows how in denial she truly is

I Really love the take on the Kent's of this Series, they Really feel like good parents, and I love how they teach Clark to use his powers while also making it feel like he is Experiencing a Normal life, you can really tell how much love and effort the writers put into this series, especially with their side characters, like this Scene really just shows how much the Kent's clearly loved and accepted Clark as their Son, despite him having these powers, rather than just treating him differently they Instead Whole heartily Accepte him for who he was, Instead of for What is, rather than teaching him how to hide complety, they instead made him feel love and reassured that No matter where he comes from, He will always be their Son ^^

Man I love Seeing the Sibling dynamic relationship between these 2 , they really do Act more like siblings rather than cousins, and I really love how he just teases her once he realizes She did have a crush on Jimmy, it really shows how much she cared about him in the end, also the way she just blushes in this Scene is so cute, I really want to see these 2 get together so bad >_<

Shout out to the Man Jimmy for really succeeding in pulling a Super alien Baddie, Also this scene really shines light on how oblivious Kara Really is to what she's doing, like she clearly believes that she is helping other Planets by bringing them apart of the kryptonian Empire, unaware that she is most like just a Conquer Who is committing mass Genocide to tons of people in the end

Ok 1st Kara is full on straight Evil for doing this to her cousin, making him think that she wasn't able to breathe in Space as a way of just punking him was seriously messed up, like she was seriously fine with giving him mental trauma as long as She gets to see his reaction, I Bet you that was a way of revenge for him teasing her about Jimmy earlier, also Thank god they know that Superman can actually breathe in space instead of just leaving him in that stupid helmet, Also I'm really Glad to see they actually went with the whole sibling route for these characters, Seeing them just get to act like kids and just having their equivalent of a Snow ball fight is really sweet, especially with the way Kara feels about being lonely, I hope that she really isn't Evil and thats all because of freaking Brainiac, please don't let anything bad happens between these 2 🥺

Also it's really awesome to see we actually get some insight regarding kryptonians and their powers, it seems that other than clark, kryptonians don't really seem to be able to have access the abilities that he has, aside for having the usual Heat vision and super strength, maybe it must have something to do with Clark being on Earth for too long, like in the Man of Steel

Well well well, looks like I was on to something about Kara being mind controlled, that fact that she wasn't even able to remember when she was last on this planet really just Shows how much Brainiac is controlling her and has been using her as a weapon, like it really feels like she Really didn't know what she was doing to millions of people, and was just thinking she was Aiding them for the New the kryptonian Empire

We finally get introduced to Brainiac and Omg he really feels like the Brainiac I grew up with, like they really understood what they were doing when it came down to handling this character, I mean aside from the really weird space Robot design they really knew how to capture the essence of Brainiac, especially with the way he's portrayed, like it really feels like he's a Corrupt machine who is Focused on bringing krypton back in a way that would involve War and destruction, kinda reminds me of how ZOD was in Man of Steel, in the same way he wanted to achieve that, Almost like they mixed both characters together to create this New version of "Brainiac"

Man Michael Emerson Did a really good job at bringing him to life, and im really glad they kept/brought back the 1st thing I love about this character, his iconic voice, like I really missed when used to sound like this and I'm really glad I get to hear it again thank you MAWS ^^

Parademons, Hawk people and Green lanterns Omg This was episode was fantastic, They're really Adding in more DC characters for this series and I'm all for it, like in my opinion THIS is what DC should've did when it came to the DCEU, instead of just bringing in multiple characters immediately they should've just teased them Slowly in the beginning and then Introduce them Over time, kinda like how in Zach snyder's justice league with them teasing green lanterns in the opening scene, Also the design for the Thanagrs in the series is Hands down 1 of the Best designs I've Seen so far like Omg, Definitely Top 3

God I Love the blue lighting in the series, it's such an interesting take on his character and the way his insignia Glows when activated is just Complete PERFECTION, also I'm really glad they incorporated the blue lighting in the 1st place, correct me if I'm wrong but I could've Sworn he actually had a Power like this in the comics, I can't remember which comic it was, but I know it was during the New 52 run, I could be wrong but either way I'm So excited they brought it back, and I'm glad they're treating it more like a Super boost rather than just keeping him in it entirely; Also damn he got Smacked so hard they kicked him out of that State entirely lol

Bruh Brainiac is Such a manipulating bastard I Hate him so much, like between this and the fact he preserved the consciousness of all those pepoele who rebelled against the empire in order to Use them as training dummies to perfect his Ultimate weapon AKA Kara Really shows how completely evil he is, like there's No redeeming this character whatsoever

Ok wow a few thing's, 1 ah So This was the planet she was blowing up when we were 1st introduced to her last Season, 2 Jimmy being the reason she was able to immediately break free of the mind control is so freaking cute, Damn it Now I really want to see these 2 end together so badly now, 3 Kara calling out to her cousin as Clark rather than Kal really hurts my heart, like it really feels like she doesn't know what to do anymore 😢, 4 MALLAH AND BRAIN HAVE RETURNED OMG, 5 Jimmy is Real one Because you KNOW funding for a whole wormhole space mission in just a short of amount of time, Really cost him a fortune and probably his Whole bank account, and finally why do I have the Feeling that next few episodes are gonna include maybe an Evil Superman and an argument between lois and kara for how Lois has been skeptical about kryptonians this Season, and by kryptonians I mainly mean Zero day and Now Kara, either way I'm all here for it and this episode was incredibly PEAK bruh can't wait for the Next one (God this took so long for me to write 😅)

[mwexodusofficial]

Chapter IV: Solace

Hawkes stared at Swansea and Daisuke as they sat across from him, right outside of the Divinity Chamber. Anya's revivification was being prepared, and the crew was getting exhausted from kneeling for so long so they were taking a short break.

It felt more than a bit awkward staring at the two of them. Swansea had not once taken his eyes off Daisuke, who was eyeing the environment with a budding curiosity and a substantial terror ever-present in his eyes. Hawkes had to suppose that the last thing he saw before today was an axe to the face, so the ever-present terror was kind of a given.

Hawkes cleared his throat, trying to break the ice.

"So-"

"Daisuke, please listen to me." Swansea whispered, almost broken. "There's nothing in the world I can say to make what I did right. There's nothing I can do to make it right. If you don't forgive me, it's okay. But I wanted you to hear me for just a minute."

Daisuke's eyes, while still filled with budding insanity and that gripping terror, focused momentarily on Swansea.

"Y...Yes?"

Swansea broke down in tears as he spoke to Daisuke. He could barely hold it together before, but now he was just letting go of his composure.

"Kid, I don't know how we got here. I'm so fucking scared this is just a wonderful dream. I'm so scared to look away from you, because I can't bear to look back and not see you, right here, next to me. I'm terrified, and I don't know why. I can't make sense of anything, right now, and I don't think I will be able to for a long time."

He placed one shaky hand on Daisuke's shoulder, which seemed to center Daisuke back to the real world a bit more.

"But if there's one thing I can see, it's that you and me... we're alive. We're out of that hellscape. Those feelings, that despair, the clawing of death, the ache of knowing we were gonna die in that piece of shit in the middle of nowhere... It's gone now. And now all I wanna do is spend every waking moment of my life with you, with Curly, with Anya. I wanna take this second chance, if that's what it is, and I wanna experience life with you all. I want to introduce you to my family. I want to bring you over for Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas morning. I want to take you to the aquarium, go for a walk, head to a concert or a baseball game."

Swansea looked him square in the eyes, the light of a flaming, fiery hope ignited within him permanently.

"Just stand by me, kid. I can't lose you again. I'm not losing you again. And we're not taking a fuckin' shitty job at that piece of shit company ever again!" He laughed in between streaming tears. "You hear me, bud? We're going to live again!"

That terror in Daisuke's eyes seemed to die down, bit by bit, as he began to comprehend Swansea's words and gradually depart from the hellish memories of the past.

"Yeah... yeah." Daisuke muttered. It had barely been any time since Daisuke was resurrected, the same for Swansea. Hawkes knew they needed a lot of time to recover, but now was barely the time. They only had one more resurrection left before he could give them recovery time.

Jimmy's resurrection didn't need love. It just needed a lot of yearning for revenge.

"Anya's revififi- ya know what, I'm never saying that fuckin' word ever again. Anya's gonna be revived soon, I'd like for you two to be present so her chances of returning are greater."

Both Swansea and Daisuke snapped their heads towards me as if I'd announce they'd won the lottery. Without saying a word, they scrambled into the Divinity Chamber, re-donning their tunics and kneeling on the floor as if they'd been devout their whole lives.

Again, failing to notice the quivering Curly in the corner. Hawkes had noticed he'd remained unmoving in the corner ever since Swansea's revival. He wasn't sure how to help him deal with the trauma, and so decided to leave him to his own devices for a while. Out of all the crew, Curly had undoubtedly suffered the most. To go from a crippled burnt chicken nugget to a fully restored human being, then to add the revival of his closest friends who he felt he'd betrayed, with the cherry on top being the hellish memories he'd suffered on the Tulpar...

Yeah, Hawkes felt the need to leave him alone until at least Anya was brought back. At this point, Hawkes didn't have any sense of anxiety about these resurrections. He was beginning to see the formula, and it was a deep relief to know that there was a solid rate of resurrection for the dead.

There was still plenty he hadn't told the Tulpar crew, but he was planning to wait until they'd all come back and could celebrate in the terrarium before taking questions about the new age.

"Only one more to go..." Hawkes muttered tiredly. He would certainly be looking forward to the liquor at the terrarium after this exhausting ordeal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 hours ago...

"So, you called me here?" Hawkes inquired as he approached the surgery table. Head Surgeon Faulkner looked up at him with a face mask and goggles.

"Yes, Captain." He replied, unfurling the cover from Anya, who was stripped of clothing for an autopsy of the body. "We've found an... issue with this corpse."

Captain Hawkes shrugged indifferently.

"Speak it." He said. Faulkner, almost in embarrassment, gestured to Anya's genitalia, where a streak of old, matted blood was stained on her thighs and lower abdomen.

"Even though she overdosed on painkillers, she was leaking blood from her womb. After inspection of the inner passage and outer area of the genitalia, we discovered bruising indicative of..."

He hesitated to speak the next words. Hawkes, who was normally very observant and calculated, lost his sense of intellect regarding females. Frequently. In every area of life.

"Well? Indicative of what?" Hawkes asked, getting irritated with the lack of response.

Faulkner knew about the Captain's vices when it came to sexual offenses. Hawke's mother had been repeatedly raped and abused by his father. His best friend in college was violated by a prominent athlete for their football team. His young love had been captured by pirates and trafficked for months before he located her- dead in a cell.

In short, Hawkes would lose his shit if Faulkner spoke the next words- and Faulkner certainly did not want to be in the crossfire when Hawkes detonated. If there was one singular thing that drove Hawkes into an immediate frenzied rage, it was sexual assault against women. For some curious reason, Faulkner had noted that Hawkes had no reaction to sexual assault against males. Was this the first male misandrist?!

So, instead of owning up to what was gonna happen and accepting the potential backlash from his Captain, Faulkner did the most pragmatic thing he could.

He delegated the responsibility onto his assistant.

"Jeremiah, would you mind delivering the assessment to the Captain? I have to attend to the restroom momentarily."

"Of course, Doctor Faulkner!"

You poor, poor child, Faulkner thought in deep guilt as he scurried out of the autopsy lab.

"So then," Hawkes insisted. "What the hell happened, Jeremiah?"

"Oh, right," Jeremiah began. "She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What were you thinking when you said that, Jeremy?"

Jeremiah stared at the grassy floor of the terrarium, wondering where he went wrong. His friend, Roble, a new security officer on the ship, was snickering at Jeremiah's recent tomfoolery. Jeremiah certainly didn't feel this 'shenanigans' vibe that Roble was playing on. His face was welted in multiple areas, and his ribcage was slightly bruised from the repeated punches delivered, courtesy of Captain Hawkes.

"How was I supposed to know about his rape PTSD?!"

"That's a fucked up way of putting it." Roble guffawed. "And he'd give you a second round of beatings if he heard you shout that. But I'm confused. Your boss didn't tell you about it?"

"No!" Jeremiah huffed in frustration. He felt betrayed by his boss, and a bit of resentment toward the Captain. "What the hell was I set up for? What did I do, huh? I just... carry the fuckin' tools and type up the reports! And I get my ASS beat for it!"

Roble sighed in empathy, leaning back against the wall as he contemplated.

"You know I'm your senior, right?"

"You sure you're not the Captain? Captain Obvious?" 

"When I was as new as you, Jeremiah," Roble began. "I was working as a General Intern, delegated to clean and maintain the garrison's weaponry. I learned a lot about rifling, my boss was super chill, and we after a hard day's work, we'd go to the terrarium with the other crewmates and drink until we were dog-sick. It was fun as hell, and every day was a blast compared to the industrial hellscape I'd come from."

Jeremiah, by this point, was listening intently to the story. He wasn't so crass as to ignore his friend when he was talking about something important to him.

"One day, I'm cleaning a Gauss twin-barrel in the hangar bay, and I make a casual joke about a celebrity girl back home who got exposed for getting taken advantage of by an executive to get a top actress role. I didn't think anything of it when I cracked the joke. Next thing I knew, I felt the back of my head smacked by an empty oil canister. Looked up to see Captain Hawkes raging at me like I came after his family."

Roble took a swig out of the beer he'd set aside.

"I'd been spending all my time at the armory my first weeks, smoking dope and chatting it up with the other crewmates assigned there. Even found a girlfriend with benefits -to this day, heh-. But after I got smacked around, I was angry at the Captain and couldn't focus on my work, so I took a break to walk around the ship. And..."

He huffed in disbelief, as if revisiting the memory for the first time.

"In the first hours I walked around, I saw Caz and Wally get in a brawl because Caz spoke condescendingly of child soldiers; Wally was a former child soldier. Two months later, I went to the cafeteria and saw Elise threatening Lon with a fork because Lon had a strong argument against abortion; Elise had been a sex slave under a warlord for 5 years and was forced to conceive children. Three months after that, I passed by the fitness area and saw Ben casually one-handing a 160 pound bench weight over Jazz's neck, after Jazz had tried to persuade Ben that all fates were predetermined; Ben's only child had died from cancer at the age of 8."

Jeremiah contemplated Roble's words, thinking about the implications of what he said. Roble turned to him to speak directly- but not before taking another swig of his beer.

"I've been on this vessel for 2 years. You've been here for half that time. And in the last two months, I've seen more violence between the crew than in the last 2 years combined. And I've come to realize something: People are fragile. They are externally strong, but they can crumple very easily on the inside. Our Captain is an accomplished, decorated, tried-and-true war veteran with decades of experience behind him. At the same time, he is an eccentric, bizarre, short-tempered, socially-volatile maniac who beats on men who even mention sexual assault. Time and time again, he's saved our lives, made calls that saved our lives, and helped us back on our feet when we were down."

Roble scooted in, laying his hand on Jeremiah's shoulder to reassure him.

"We just discovered that resurrection is possible. Maybe to you and me, that's a reality we can cope with easily because we just started out in this world and we have time and normal responsibilities, so adjusting to it isn't as harsh. But to a 40 year old like Hawkes? With all the things he saw? All the terrible shit he had to live with, every day and night? All the responsibilities and duties he has now, to his crew, to the crew he just saved? Do you think he's able to wrap his head around this and not lose his shit sometimes?"

"Wait," Jeremiah interrupted. "Hawkes is 40? What? I thought he was 50."

"Nope," Roble responded- followed by another swig o' the beer. "He's 40 years old."

"How the hell does he have three decades of battle experience if he's 40? That would make him ten years old."

Roble said nothing, just stared at Jeremiah.

"Are you serious?" Jeremiah muttered. Roble nodded his head.

"Ayup. Hawkes was a child prodigy, and 30 years ago that was grounds for immediate conscription. He worked as a junior tactician first, but after he figured out the enemy fleet was planning a retreat followed by ambush, he was promoted to admiral at the age of ten and a half years old. So technically, twenty-nine and a half years of admiralty experience."

"How? Literally how?"

Roble shrugged. "When I say child prodigy, I mean child prodigy. He ended the Siege of Korres at the age of seventeen."

"No, I mean how the hell was this legal, or allowed?! Our military was just cool with having ten year old admirals?"

"Eleven."

"You know what I mean, jackass!"

Roble raised his hands in the air, as if deflecting accountability.

"What do you want me to say, Jeremy? I just told you about child soldiers. Our nation was fighting half a dozen wars less than 30 years ago. They probably were losing admirals left and right and needed to fill those replacements quickly. Ever heard of 'scraping the barrel'?"

Jeremiah sat back and exhaled in disbelief.

"This is a lot to take in."

"Yeah, now try being the Captain and dealing with ten times that stress."

"I get the point, can you shut up?"

The two sat silently for a bit, quietly enjoying the calm atmosphere.

...

...

...

...

...

"You know," Roble said. "I can't imagine what he felt when that first guy came back to life. I could hear him putting on a front with his sarcasm and brashness, but I could tell he was hurting inside."

"Hurting?"

"Yeah. Hurting. It's a double-edged sword, man. You helped bring back someone whose life was snuffed out in a bad way, but it reminds you of all the people you never got the chance to resurrect. It reminds you of the people you killed, the people you couldn't help. It's... maddening, I bet."

"Yeah..." Jeremiah mumbled. This conversation had given him more insight on the crew than he'd expected. "So, what? Do I just take the beatings as I go?"

"Jeremy, if the cost of being on this ship, being able to smoke dope, drink beer, make friends, have a purpose, find love, get freaky, help others, and give the dead a second chance is getting smacked around every so often, that's a cost I'll bear every single time." Roble said firmly. "You can feel free to go back to the indentured servitude on agrarian planets or industrial planets, or maybe you'll get lucky and find a job as a menial servant on a luxury colony. But for me, this is the best it gets. And I'll die on here if I have to."

"You do realize other worlds exist than agrarian, industrial and luxury colonies?"

"I'm making a point, wise guy. This is a great place to be. No doubt dangerous, no doubt risky, but nonetheless a place I feel like I belong."

Jeremiah nodded slightly. He couldn't deny that feeling. Being on this ship, seeing all the vibrant people, experiencing the Divinity Chamber and the connection to God... it was just indescribably marvelous. It was a fact that every human across the galaxy, without exception, had felt the connection on the day of the Second Resurrection.

Yet it was an odd, inextricable feeling. There was a noticeable discomfort to that feeling; as if an imbalance in the universe had caused this event. Jeremiah had his theories; that the Great Terror and its consequences had created a downward regression to humanity's progress, and needed to be corrected; or that the cynicism and grim outlook of humans galaxy-wide was cause for God to provide solace through this event.

Whatever the answer, Jeremiah knew that, ultimately, humanity was entering an era unlike any it had ever encountered before. And if there was one place he wanted to be for that kind of awakening, it was on this massive, powerful, friend-filled military vessel.

As for Anya...

Jeremiah thought back on the events an hour prior...

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"She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

The eagerness to which Jeremiah had said that to Hawkes, no matter how unintended it was-

CRACK!

Jeremiah fell over a tray of surgical tubes, left in terror as Hawkes hulked over him, expressing pure abject rage.

"WHO?!"

CRACK!

"I-I don't know, Captain!!"

"W-H-O?!?!"

Hawkes, in a blind rage, slammed his fist into Jeremiah's ribcage, causing him to flip multiple times across the room. After a few seconds, Hawkes returned to coherency. He was lost for words as he gazed at Jeremiah's body slumped over an Ottoman, groaning in pain.

"... I... I... That... that... that motherfucker..."

Hawkes stormed out of the room-

I'M GONNA RIP HIS LIMBS OFF AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH. I'LL GOUGE HIS EYES OUT AND SHOVE HIS TESTICLES IN THEIR PLACE. I'LL HANG HIM OVER A VAT OF BOILING OIL AND DIP HIM SLOWLY-

Calm down.

Hawkes stopped in his tracks, realizing he could hardly breathe. He recentered himself, placing his hands on his knees. He felt nauseous. He felt wrathful. He wanted to kill that scum of the earth as soon as he could.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. Not when he almost had him back to life. He needed to bring him back, so he could take his time with him. So he could delegate the suffering that was most needed for this... this... ill-bred shitheel.

And above everything else, he wanted the Tulpar crew to get their due justice.

He resumed his walking, this time at a brisk and fuming pace. Kill. Kill.

Ki-

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-ll. Kill. Kill. Kill-

"Hawkes."

"Huh?" Hawkes responded in a haze. Swansea was trying to get his attention.

"It's beginning. Start praying or whatever the fuck."

"Oh... right... right. Don't... curse in here..."

"By the way, who's that guy curled up in the corner back there?"

"Oh, uh... that's Curly."

"....What?"

"That's Curly... We reformed his body."

Swansea was speechless for a moment as Hawkes walked away, looking between Hawkes and Curly in the corner. Moments passed, and still he was left silent and unable to render words. Meanwhile, Jezarit came forward, placing the communion wafer in Anya's mouth and gently pouring the wine down the wafer's surface, allowing it to cascade down her esophagus.

"O Lord Almighty," Jezarit began, gesturing around the room as the hundreds of crewmates fervently prayed in silence. "Anya Musume was an aspiring young medical professional, hailing from a humble family that wanted the best for her. She spent much of her youth studying diligently, and most of her young adulthood working diligently on her licensing!"

"Wha..." Swansea muttered, looking back at Curly as if his eyes deceived him. He rubbed them. Curly was still there, motionless in the corner. "What..."

He stood up in a daze, stumbling over to Curly and towering over his huddled figure for a few minutes. Unbelieving that he was standing here, cured of that awful state Swansea had gotten so used to.

"You're the cause of all this.. you... you... demon. Curly. How could you? Why? Why did you doom us to be stuck under that flailing psychopath?! You fuckin' piece of SHIT!"

Curly was in a perpetual state of shock, simply unable to process his surroundings. Enraged by his lack of response, Swansea grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall.

"WHYYYYYYYYY, CURLLYYYYYYYY?!!!!"

Hawkes tried to separate the two, but was promptly thrown back by Swansea's arm.

"I want the answer outta YOUR fuckin' mouth, CURLY!" Swansea demanded, slamming him against the wall once more. "YOU DOOMED US!! WHAT WAS THE REASON FOR IT?!?!"

"Jimmy."

Swansea turned to glare murderously at Hawkes.

"What did you say?"

"It wasn't Curly that crashed the ship. It was Jimmy. Put some thought into it and you'll figure out that this makes more sense than your long-beloved Captain deciding to take a nosedive for no reason."

Swansea's face was swamped with uncertainty and doubt, eventually clouding over with blind rage. He turned back to Curly, this time gripping his hand around his throat and tightening it.

"So not only did you defend a rapist, you gave that same worthless thug the keys to the ship?"

Swansea leaned in, sneering with a mountain of contempt and loathing behind his every syllable.

"You aren't my Captain any longer."

Swansea tossed him to the ground with disregard, as Curly coughed, choked, and sobbed silently. Hawkes wanted to pity him, but after hearing that he had defended Jimmy...

"Ugh." Hawkes groaned in loathing. What a messy situation. A perfect demonstration of how the world wasn't just black and white. He leaned down and grabbed Curly's hand, pulling him up onto his feet. He was slightly disappointed when Curly's knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, unmoving and drained of energy.

"Well, sh- dang."

Hawkes couldn't help but fall in love with this crew. What beautiful, complicated souls. Not romantically, obviously- but in a familial sense. He had just brought them back to the land of the living. He had given them a second chance to live out their life to its fullest, to renew their relationships with their crew and others, and to have a new outlook on the beauty of life.

He, a shitty, undeserving decorated mass-murderer, had saved these people. Saved them. 

Could anyone find words to describe what that feels like?

What that feels... like?

He couldn't give up. Not on any of them. Only one needed the punishment that was deserving from all of this unnecessary suffering. Of course. A living Rachel. A Rachel he could exact justice upon.

A J-i-m-m-y.

Captain Hawkes silently cackled to himself, enjoying the depths of his own niche humor, much to the disturbance of Caz and Ramirez standing right behind him. They, of course, said nothing- it wasn't their place to request the Captain take a mental evaluation.

Nonetheless, Captain Hawkes was resolved. He still didn't have every part of this story, only the major elements. He needed to unravel the whole story, to understand the motivations and how this catastrophe ever got started. And it all traced back to Jimmy.

"Ceremony's beginning, sir."

"Set reminder for 6 hours."

"...I'm not an AI, sir."

The preacher walked forth to the body of Anya, proclaiming the eulogy further. I noticed, however, that he seemed to be off in his tempo and speech; as if he had just lost the script for his performative ritual.

"Anya was... a friend, a confidant, an advisor and a mentor. She... was bold, strong-willed, a mediator amongst her peers. She did not give ground when challenge met her in the field! When the perilous journey of the Tulpar took place, she was the first to... take charge! Her peers respected and revered her, as the vital medical officer that rose to the occasion. She did not cow to threats, nor lose her nerve when tough times arrived-"

Whoosh.

Hawkes felt Curly's presence storm past him, and sorely wished he had popcorn on hand. 

The preacher, Jezarit, was unaware of Curly up until the moment his eyes perceived a fist-

WHAM!

The preacher stumbled and fell to the floor, holding his nose and wincing in pain. He glared upwards only to be met with shuddering indignance spewing from every pore of Curly's body.

"You will not SIT HERE and desecrate the memory of Anya, you fucking bastard! Don't you dare LIE about her so boldly!"

Curly shuffled up to Anya's lifeless corpse, sobbing without making a sound as he traced his hands along her arms, face and hair.

"Look at her. Look at her, you idiots." He sobbed inconsolably. "I have my eyes back. I have my hands, my feet, my skin and normalcy. But all I can think about is how much I let down the woman I loved most in the world- the crew who looked up to me. All I can think about is how I was so disgusting, so cruel to give even a thought towards protecting that unspeakable monster... And I couldn't even see what was right in front of me, the treasure of my whole world..."

Curly collapsed to his knees, crying over Anya's body. His wails echoed throughout the massive chamber, leaving the air solemn and grim. Nobody wanted to interrupt such grieving; it was inhuman to even consider it.

"She was timid. She was anxious. She didn't like confrontation. She was lively, but nerdy and inquisitive. She failed her medical exams eight times and got a job on my freighter because it was the only place she could practice medicine. She loved reading about psychology. She was an expert on the safety manual. She wanted to visit Terra one day to see her ancestral homeland. And she relied on me. What did I do for her...?"

He cried. And cried. It was all he could do. He knew who was responsible for their torment, but he was the cause of it all. He was the one who brought that psycho onto the freighter; he was the one who ignored Anya's cries for help, the one who handed those fucking keys to Jimmy.

At every point where he had the opportunity to turn away from disaster, he failed completely.

For God's sake... he had to watch Anya commit suicide right in front of him.

"Anya, please. By God, please. Forgive me. Forgive me. I can never apologize enough. There is nothing in the universe I could give to free myself of what I did. There's no punishment worse than this feeling of regret and guilt. I don't want to exist. I can't bear this p-a-a-a-i-n. I can't let it end like this. The universe can't be this cruel..."

His eyes stung; he was utterly exhausted, but nothing except the drowning waves of regret and all-consuming guilt was there to accompany him. He felt alone in the world. He felt rejected by the universe. He felt rejected by... by...

In a sheer act of desperation, Curly lowered his head to the floor, bowing himself so low that he had practically meshed with the floor. His tears pooled around his forehead, dampening his hair and clouding his vision with particles of acute sorrow.

"Please, God. Let her live again. You may have whatever you want of me. You may take whatever you want. If I can see her again, I will never be so foolish and blind for the rest of my life. I will value her. I will love her. I will cherish her. And I will die for her. She will be my everything. My crew, and my Anya.

-------------------!

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(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Daisuke, Post-Revival)

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