Big Fan Of Putting People In Situations

Writing blog of simplydm

[dmwrites]

I write mcyt fics, among other things. Please feel free to read, reblog, and send asks!

Fics posted at random and without warning:)

Anyone looking to translate, make art, write something inspired by my work is free to do so, just link to the original fic or tag me (either or works) :)

-dm (she/they)

Psps if you want general mcyt content follow my main @simplydm

My favorite fics (of my own writing) (2022 edition)

2023 fic list

ao3

[dmwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It may be soooo hard to be Rentheking, but it’s harder for the knights of the square table to have to listen to his constant innuendos.

Want to read the original? Find it here.

[catbellybuttons]

writing the first half of a fic: yaaaay! wooo!!! 🌈💝 fun ideas 😊💖✨️~

writing the second half of a fic: I am in a fight with god himself and he is winning

[dmwrites]

Been working hard (15 min a day tbf) on a chaptered (woah? Not a ficlet for once? Wow dm!) fic that is 2/3rds done (oh my god it’s taking so long) anyway here’s a sentence

[dmwrites]

I misread scaf as scarf and now I’m picturing goodtimeswithscarf

[dmwrites]

This silly last sentence makes me so happy for no reason

[dmwrites]

I just went looking for an old fic in my files and i completely forgot the diabolical way I labeled documents back in my daily writing 2022 phase

“Dm that’s not so bad a lot of people don’t label their documents” no no you don’t understand. Each document is a weeks worth of fics. I just put 7 days worth of fics into one document for ???? for what reason, dm???

[dmwrites]

Hey sorry for spamming you so much I'm just severely hyperfixated on the dsmp again and wanted to say that your work has spoken to me like no other piece of media ever? I don't know I'm not very good at describing things or speaking but your writing feels so introspective if that makes sense and it's making me lose my mind and it's so good and even though I'm having a mental breakdown from reading your fics I want to say thank you so much they make me shake and throw up and sob and rip my hair out and I don't know what's happening to my body but thank you so much your writing makes my brainworms slither around and I feel them wrapping around my neural pathways thank you thank you thank you and I've always always ALWAYS LOVED the concept of the dsmp from an outsiders perspective and you doing that with Michael mcchill just scratches the itch in my soul and I didn't even know anything about Michael's lore but now I'm so interested and I'm shaking and oh my god thank you so much I love you

Sorry for my incoherent manic ramblings

Sorry it took me a few days to see this, but thank you so much for the complements! It was honestly so nice to see both your tags in my notifs and be reminded of the dsmp fics I’ve done.

Michael McChill had such interesting lore with his radio show, it always felt like he was the right fit for a person to be the outsider pov (I think he has two short vods on a vods channel of his called serenity that are his big lore).

Thanks for reading my stuff:) it’s always appreciated

[dmwrites]

King Ren Ain’t Doing Too Good- ao3 link

“Rentheking was losing time, or his mind. Or both. The crown lay heavy as an anvil on his brow. And he was afraid.”

Want to read the original? Find it here.

[dmwrites]

Cutting a small part out of an upcoming ao3 upload because I just can’t make it fit so I wanted to put it here to remember it by lol

[dmwrites]

Mumbo had a fair few things to do today. As he got out of bed, put on his jeans and plaid shirt, he mentally ran through the list. Someone was coming from Hermitcraft Communications to put in a 5G tower in about an hour, so he had to be presentable for that. His shipment of fresh greens for his geese should be arriving today, so he had to be on the lookout for that package.

He grabbed a loaf of bread from the kitchen and suddenly remembered he’d forgotten to take the trash out last night. He wasn’t normally awake to see the trash off, as it was done in the early hours of the day, even for an early riser like him. He grabbed the can and put it outside- the sun was just peeking over the mountains now, catching the windmills’ arms in its steadily growing golden light. Mumbo paused in his stride, took a deep breath of the fresh and cool air.

There was a rustling behind him, and he turned just in time to see a figure at his trash can, dumping its contents into a shulker box. Mumbo squinted- was that Pearl? It was; she looked up and waved at him, dressed not in her firefighter uniform she’d been sporting all season, but a green overall situation. She waved at him and flew off.

Mumbo had heard that she’d really leaned into being a trash collector person back in season nine, although he hadn’t been around much to see it for himself. It hadn’t occured to him that she might still do the trash collection- up until this moment, Mumbo honestly hadn’t given a single thought to who might collect the trash every morning.

Mumbo looked out over his wheat fields for a bit, admiring how the golden waves got even more saturated with color as the sun rose. He drank some tea and then went back inside his house. The fields needed weeding, and then he was going to build some custom trees. And he had to direct the person putting in his 5G tower.

There was a knock at the door right as Mumbo finished strapping his knee pads into place. He rushed to the front door and opened it.

“‘Ello Mumbo! Good to see you again.”

Mumbo did a double take as he looked at Pearl, again. She wasn’t wearing the uniform of the trash worker now, but some jeans and a shirt.

“Pearl? What? Didn’t I just see you, like, half an hour ago?”

Pearl chuckled amusedly at him. “You know, we hermits are allowed to see each other more than once a day. And I’m on official 5G tower duty now, so no dwaddling about. Where, sir, would you like your 5G tower to go?” Pearl pulled a clipboard from her inventory and flipped a page. “I have your contract all here for signing, but for transparency’s sake, I wanted to remind you that this tower will also be an operational fire tower, in collaboration with Hermitcraft’s firefighting agency.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Mumbo said, even though it didn’t, really, and signed the papers given to him at once. He was moreso wondering how exactly he’d missed Pearl being both the trash pickup lady and the 5G tower installer. He made a mental note to leave a nice letter for her with tomorrows trash, because he felt a little guilty about his obliviousness.

He showed Pearl the area he’d cleared for her to build in, although, he admitted with a red face and an awkward scratch to the back of the head, he’d been thinking about building a tree there instead. Pearl was nothing but warm and kind, and together they found a new spot. Pearl thanked him, then told him to go on and work on his trees.

A few hours later, to Mumbo’s shagrin, Pearl was finished building the entire tower, and Mumbo had a few spindly trees to show in exchange. He sputtered and gasped and gawked at the gorgeous tower that had popped up, almost flying into Pearl herself in the tower.

“Wha- how? Oh my god, this is- I am, well, I’m speechless, really. How did you manage all this in just a few hours? I’ve only managed to build three trees, Pearl!”

Pearl patted him on the shoulder, giggling. “You forget- I have a blueprint, while you are working in organics. But I appreciate the complement.”

“Do you take, like, breaks between your builds, go for a walk or anything?” Mumbo asked Pearl as they flew down to the ground together.

“No, not really. Lots to do. I’d rather just keep pounding along, you know? If I didn’t have some other things to get to today, I’d probably just go on over to Grian’s place and set up his tower.”

Mumbo gwacked at her. “God, I have to have a walk, a sip of tea, pet my dog, something between every tree’s completion! I can’t imagine just going and going on with no pauses.”

Pearl glanced at her communicator. “Well, speaking of no pauses, I’m afraid I do have to dash off. Other things to do and all that. I’m glad you like your tower,” she smiled at him, blue eyes just about level with his own. “Your trees are beautiful. You should be very proud.”

And she was gone, and Mumbo was left thinking about an upside down house filled with secret task books and deflecting her warm complements with awkward laughter. She’d learned that leaving means he can’t deflect, it seemed. He chuckled to himself, looking out at the trees he’d built. They were pretty nice, weren’t they.

Mumbo went back to his house, deciding then and there to write a letter to Pearl to thank her. He wrote it while he ate lunch, addressed it to her address. He was considering walking over to her base to deliver it when there was a knock at the door. Mumbo opened the door to a huge box in his face.

“Delivery for Mumbo Jumbo!”

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Mumbo said, taking the box from the delivery person’s hands, his face smooshing against the side. He turned to set it down out of the way, grunting a remark at how heavy a box of leafy greens could be.

“Just need you to sign for me, good sir.”

Mumbo paused, bent over the box. There was no way, but he could swear that that voice sounded all too familiar…

“Pearl?”

And there Pearl stood yet again, in a sky blue and white uniform, a cap placed rakishly on her head. She had a mail satchel on her side, and was holding out another clipboard and pen to him. She was smiling at him, her chest rising with a giggle.

Mumbo took the pen and clipboard, a laugh of disbelief curling heavy in his chest. “How- what are you doing here again? And- wait, how long have you been doing the mail service?!”

“Only since last season,” Pearl said with a half shrug.”

“Only,” Mumbo echoed in disbelief, handing the clipboard back to her. “Pearl, I’ve seen you three times today. You’ve been working for a different company every time. You keep changing outfits.”

“And I’ve seen you three times,” Pearl replied, storing the clipboard away. “How lovely is that? I don’t usually get to see you on my mail run. And speaking of, got any outgoing mail for me?”

“I- I do, actually,” Mumbo fetched his letter, handing it over with a blush hot on his face. “It’s…”

Pearl looked at the recipient, and smiled. “I’ll make sure it gets to them. Bye now, Mumbo!”

Mumbo felt like he’d just been shot from Etho’s windcharge cannon without warning- dazed and confused. He watched Pearl walk away, wanting to shout a million questions after her, but not even sure what to ask. It was dawning on him that he just kind of assumed that things like mail and trash pickup had been done by some kind of server magic, a plug-in by Xisuma or something. He had known Pearl to always been industrious, but this was almost rediculous.

Mumbo eventually went to feed his geese and weed his wheat fields, the hard work pushing Pearl and the absurdity her three jobs out of his mind, replaced with daydreams of builds to come. He had just started placing some wool blocks on top of his future cityscape when he was punched off by Grian.

“Oh, hello Grian!” Mumbo greeted him.

“Mumbo, let’s get dinner,” Grian said in reply. “We haven’t hung out in ages, we’re like ships passing in the night.”

“I suppose I could go for a good meal and decent company,” Mumbo chuckled.

“Decent??” Grian squawked. “Excuse me, I’m a delight!”

After a quick shower, Grian lead Mumbo to a little resturant off to the side of the shopping district. It was pretty new looking, or at least Mumbo hoped it was, because he hadn’t even known there was a resturant on the server. They went in and sat down at a booth, perusing the options.

“‘Ello, ‘ello, welcome in.”

A cheerful and incredibly familiar voice interrupted Mumbo’s musings about wether to have more bread today. Mumbo felt his body close to exploding with mirth as he looked up to see none other than Pearlescentmoon standing before them, now wearing an apron over some jeans and a Decked Out II T-shirt.

“Pearl, don’t you dare tell me you work here too,” Mumbo said shrilly.

“Dude, don’t talk to wait staff like that, it’s so rude,” Grian admonished him. “I want a steak,” he said to Pearl.

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Mumbo here’s been seeing me all over the place, poor thing,” Pearl replied good naturedly, scribbling down Grian’s order. “I liked doing resturant work so much from Hungry Hermits last season that I sometimes take orders here. What would you like, Mumbo?”

“A loaf of bread and a potato, I suppose.” Mumbo said after too long of a silence where he just stared at her.

“Easy peasy, coming right up,” Pearl tapped her pen against the notepad and walked off to the kitchen.

“Dude, have you never seen a person work in a restaurant before? Stop staring,” Grian flicked Mumbo’s forehead.

“You don’t understand, G,” Mumbo took Grian’s forefinger and thumb, looking into his eyes to implore someone aside from himself to see the bizarreness of it all. “She’s not just the waiter. She picks up our trash. She delivered my package. She put in a 5G tower really quickly between those other two jobs. I feel like I’m going crazy here!”

“Why, because Pearl has a few jobs?” Grian shrugged. “Sounds like a personal issue to work through, mate. She’s always dashing around. I don’t think I’ve seen her stop moving longer than two minutes. Must be all that Hungry Hermits training. That was fun- do you remember when we did that? We used to do things together.”

“Alright, now you two lovelies enjoy your date, and just close the door behind you. I have to dash, unfortunately. Got another tower to build before the sun sets,” Pearl told them, taking off her apron.

“Wait, don’t we need to pay you or something?” Mumbo said to her, a kind of mad desperation in his voice. He felt like he should do something, show that all her work was noticed, even though he hadn’t noticed a thing until today.

“Oh, its all good, I don’t accept tips.”

“Cheap, I like it,” Grian said. “I had forgotten my wallet anyway.”

“Quick question, Pearl. Do you get paid for any of your jobs?” Mumbo asked. “Or is it all just a love for the game?”

“I just like keeping busy, you know,” Pearl replied with a nod. “A smile on my friends’ faces is all the payment I need.”

“And thank god for that, because I hate paying for things,” Grian quipped. Everyone ignored him.

“I- okay, well, bye Pearl. Thank you?” Mumbo called after Pearl’s retreating form. “You know, it’s funny, I never see Pearl normally, but today I’ve seen her everywhere I go.”

“And I never see you, Mumbo. Now what’s all that about?” Grian replied, and the two devolved into catching up over their meal.

After eating, Grian and Mumbo took a stroll around the up-and-coming shopping district. Scar was building it, which meant Mumbo got a chance to study a master’s work up close, gushing to Grian over the intricacies and choices. They talked of building, of plans and what the other person had missed in their lives. And then, Grian had an idea.

“Let’s do something fun,” Grian said, a sudden mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Let’s set something on fire. For the plot,” he pulled out a flint and steel.

“Grian, that seems like a bad- Grian!” Mumbo shrieked as Grian set a tree near the shopping district on fire. It was close enough to Scar’s custom trees that Mumbo felt cause for alarm. He scrambled for his communicator.

<mumbo: FIRW!!!!>

<Grian: fire.>

“Oh Grian, why would you do that? The whole place is going to burn!” Mumbo moaned, flapping his hands at the fire.

“She’s got ten seconds before she’s surpassed her quickest time,” Grian said to himself, a stopwatch running on his communicator.

“Grian, what-”

And then there was a siren. A figure appeared in full firefighter gear, flying towards them at top speed. They screeched to a halt in front of the two, the siren sound still playing from the goat horn in their hand. The person lifted their helmet to glare at them, and of course, it was-

“Pearl!?” Mumbo screeched.

Pearl rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on Mumbo, you knew this one, my base theme is literally ‘fightfighter’ this season.”

“I- well, yes, I now am remembering that, I just- what don’t you do?” Mumbo stuttered.

“Well, someone’s gotta do it all,” Pearl replied, pulling out a water bucket and hurling it onto the raging flame. It took a few more buckets and some swatting about, but Pearl got the fire out soon enough.

“You beat your best fire reaction time by five seconds,” Grian told Pearl with a devilish grin.

She took out a second bucket of water and dumped it unceremoniously on Grian’s head. “And that’s for starting your tenth fire this season. It’s a new part of the firefighter code- we dump water on any person who gets to ten fires started. I’m going to get some punch cards made up when I get the time.”

“I wasn’t part of it, only an unwilling accomplice,” Mumbo said quickly when Pearl feigned a bucket throw at him.

“Good. I may still have to come by and do a fire safety training for you sometime, boy. Firefighter’s gotta keep unwilling accomplices from becoming arsonists like their friends,” Pearl said with a chuckle. “But glad I could save the day.”

“So you pick up trash, deliver mail, install towers, wait on tables, and fight fire. Pearl, I feel like I’m going to see you in my dreams next! Do you run the entire world or something?” Mumbo asked her.

Pearl hummed. “Dreams? Only sometimes, when they’re farming related. But it’s not all that much I do, really. You’re giving me too much credit,” she patted him on the shoulder, then flew off before Mumbo could respond.

“Do… does anyone else actually do anything on this server, or is it all just Pearl? Does Pearl run the world?” Mumbo asked, flabbergasted, turning to Grian, who could only shrug soggily in response.

[dmwrites]

Making Grian into the person who “forgets their wallet” every time they go out w their friends bc it’s funny to me

[dmwrites]

This is still one of my favorite bits ever

[dmwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Oooo an old dsmp piece for your Thursday? Connoreatspants? Ranboo? In this economy?

Read the original here.

[dmwrites]

The “OOF” really makes this

New throwback fic on ao3 this Thursday!

[dmwrites]

i am saying this with absolute love in my heart (although understandable if you don't like comparisons) but your latest fic with zed and doc is the closest thing to The Red Sun Never Sets but with Zedaph i think <- thing that have only ever read The Red Sun Never Sets

Tbh I’ve never read or heard of it (I looked it up and I’m guessing you’re talking about a hermitcraft fic on ao3) but I’ll have to read it 👀👀 I appreciate your complement, since it seems to be highly reguarded (on a reddit post I saw about it lol)

Fun fact about the zed and doc fic (it’s called “i spy” in my notes) is that i did in fact start writing it when that episode dropped in s9 and just finished it the other day.

[dmwrites]

Zedaph was always a bit odd.

That was rich, Doc knew, coming from him- they were more painfully alike then Doc cared to admit, really. Two ends of the same mad scientist scale, both lived in some kind of hole in the ground, did redstone oddities, stuff like that. Zed was kind of an enigma as is to most of the server, and Doc was in a similar camp.

All of that to say, it was a bit of a suprise when Doc’s communicator buzzed, and Zedaph’s contact information showed up on the screen.

“‘Ello?”

“Hi Doc, so nice to hear that voice of yours,” Zed spoke with a kind of prompt friendliness, like he had business to discuss.

“You too, man. What’s going on?” Doc asked.

“I need you to meet me in the nether, at my portal.”

“The nether?”

“Okay great, see you there!” Zed hung up before Doc could get another word in edge-wise.

“Okay…” Doc muttered to himself, staring down at the communicator like that held any kind of answer. He put down his paintbrush and stretched- it might be a good thing to step away from the murals he was painting on the walls of The Perimeter, let his eyes readjust to the world around him.

Soon enough, Doc strolled into sight of Zed’s nether portal, where the man himself was standing, practically beaming with excitement.

“Doc! The man of the hour!”

“Yeah, I’m here… what’s this about, Zedaph? Redstone troubles, heh?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing of the sort,” Zed said. “Doc, did you know that all through this season of Hermitcraft, I was trying to take sneaky pictures of everyone?”

“I heard about it through the grapevine, yeah,” Doc said slowly, wondering where this was going. “Bit of a voyier, are we?”

Zed chuckled. “Well, I haven’t gotten around to taking everyone’s picture, voyieristically, as you put it, and I wanted to at least try to get everyone. So, I have a puzzle for you, in a way. Beyond this portal, I want you to try to find me, or else I get a lovely sneaky picture of you.”

“Sounds easy,” Doc said, cracking his knuckles. “I am the GOAT after all, not much gets by me.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Zedaph said warmly. “Shall we begin then? Give me a few moments to hide, then come on through!” He made his way over to the portal and vanished into it.

Doc stood around for a few minutes, listening to the ambient sounds of the nether, then stepped into the portal himself, feeling the familiar coolness as he went from one dimension to another. He closed his eyes to avoid any motion sickness, and when he opened them, there was a humanoid figure standing in front of him, backlit by the sun.

“Zed, no offence, but you’re shit at hiding,” Doc said, laughing. The figure didn’t move, nor did it say anything. “Zed?” Doc moved forward, then gasped.

It wasn’t Zed, not really. Standing before him was an armor stand, decked out in simple leather armor, with the decapitated head of the man shoved on top. The severed neck dripped blood in a thick, slow stream. Zed’s head was turning a grey color, the eyes vacent, the mouth sagging open. It was a little off-kilter on the armor stand, and that’s what sent Doc reeling backwards, grabbing the wall for support.

“What the fuck?”

Now, Doc knew about the head-drop system on the Hermitcraft server. It was a fun add-on, where player and mob heads would drop on death, and be fully preserved forever. Some people would use heads as decor, even. But this was different, because the Zed head in front of him was decaying, and head drops didn’t decay. Doc’s internal systems had a constant stream of mod indentifiers running, and all the output screen on his robotic eye was showing nothing at all. This was organic, this was a real head.

And then, he looked beyond the grizzly sight before him and out into Zed’s base. His breath stuttered as his output faithfully scanned the area with him. There were tens of armor stands, all wearing leather tunics and pants, with an organic head jammed on top. An army of Zedaphs, all looking right at him with gaping mouths and dead eyes. The only movement in the space came from the dangling mobs, all silently watching him.

“Zed?” Doc whispered, then said louder. “What…”

There was a high-pitched giggle from somewhere, echoing throughout the hole. The pristine white quartz walls suddenly felt too clinical, too clean. Was this a trap, or some kind of horrible experiment?

Doc started back towards the nether portal.

“Don’t go, Doc! You promised to find me!” Zed’s voice came from somewhere, unnervingly cheerful and teasing.

Doc tried to pinpoint the voice, a stubborn streak of competitiveness holding him in this wretched place. Zed was trying to unnerve him, throw him off his game. Doc scanned the area for warmpth indexes, but felt ill when each head lit up.

“How much time do I have?” he asked, taking a few steps past the first Zedaph armor stand and looking closely at the next one. He didn’t like having his back to them.

“Twenty or thirty seconds,” Zedaph’s amused voice came from somewhere- slightly above, maybe?

Doc looked up, but there were more armor stands there. The blood from their heads dripped slowly onto the walls, bleeding into the floor. It was really slippery here in the open area. Doc chose his steps carefully, scanning for movement, breathing, anything that would show real, actual life. He knew Zedaph was watching him, but it felt like every head’s lifeless eyes were following his cautious treck across the floor. Again, his mind was in overdrive trying to figure out how Zedaph had done this, created theses decaying, partially-alive heads when that shouldn’t be possible. And why?

“And time’s up! Ah, better luck next time,”

Doc finally caught sight of Zed as he jumped off of a low rooftop and onto the ground. He was grinning at Doc, like this was all just the grandest joke. Zed wove his way through the armor stands, and Doc felt for his sword instinctively.

“How did you do it?” Doc asked.

“Do what?” Zed grinned, tilted his head to one side.

“The heads. They bleed, they have heat indexes. They are raw and real, not the preserved ones we have as a texture pack.”

Zed chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, ah, now, a magician never reveals his tricks. But it’s a good one, right? This trick?” He looked out at the field of heads, then looked back at Doc. “You know, you could help me with my trick. Be another Zedaph clone, confuse the next person that is coming by,” Zed walked closer, that same genial smile on his face.

“No, I think I’ll be going,” Doc looked towards the portal- if he flew, he could reach it in seconds, it would just be the delay of switching dimensions that may hold him up.

“No, I don’t think so.”

There was a sudden sharp pain to the back of Doc’s head and everything went dark.

——

“Ah, Impulse. Welcome in. Now, your mission, if you choose to acccept it, is to find the real me. Your time has started now.”

“Zedaph… what did you do?”

Doc’s ears were ringing, and his head ached. He went to touch that spot where it hurt, but his arm was stuck in place. The other arm was in a similar state, only his fingers able to wriggle about like agitated silverfish. He tried to move his arm again, and this time felt something solid against his forearms. Rope or some kind of binding holding him in place against something.

“Which one of these is the real Zedaph, that’s the real question, it’s it?” Impulse was chuckling.

Doc’s face felt wet and concerningly heavy. And something was wrong with his eyes- there were dark parts at the edge of his vision. He sucked in and breath and tasted blood. He recoiled instinctually, and the thing, there was a thing on his head, tilted to one side, and Doc understood in one horrible moment. There were two eye holes letting in light, cut just too small for Doc’s vision. It was a mask, a whole head jammed on top of his own, with only a cut in the mouth for air.

“Ah, here you are!” Impulse’s voice, loud in its triumph, was accompanied by a cheeky punch to the gut.

Doc gasped out something, a “help” that came out more like a wet gurgle, hunching over himself best he could while tied to the armor stand. All of his senses, normal and advanced, were in panicked overdrive. He understood now that this was one of the sagging Zed heads that encompassed his own, the blood in his mouth and nose. Zed had made him part of this rancid trick.

“Wait, Doc?”

Doc’s face was compressed for a moment, but then the freedom of open air hit him. Impulse had pulled the head off. Doc gasped, spitting out blood and wriggling against his restraints. Impulse freed one of his arms, and Doc wiped his eyes clean.

“Tricked you!” Zed’s laughing voice came again from somewhere in his base, hidden again for Impulse to find. The white quartz walls echoed his glee- the sick scientist got joy out of this horror show.

“Oh my gosh, I thought you were Zedaph!” Impulse exclaimed, stepping back when all the restraints were loose.

Doc staggered towards him. “Impulse, you have to run. He knocked me out, put that… head on me. He’s a psychopath!”

Impulse glanced at Doc’s hands, which he’d outstretched imploringly towards him, and dodged out of the way, a polite grimace on his face. “It’s Zed, man, he’s always a little out there.”

“Thirty seconds!” Zed’s voice echoed down at them. “Thanks for your help, Doc.”

Impulse glanced nervously towards the rest of the armor stands. “Listen, man, I gotta at least try to find Zed. Why don’t you go back home? You’re a little… dirty.”

Doc stared after Impulse in disbelief. Was he another lamb about to be taken by the lion? Or did Zed just have it out for Doc specifically? Doc could still feel blood heavy on his face, staining his leather clothes. His wrists tingled as the feeling began returning to them.

Ignored, like nothing had ever been wrong, Doc walked to the portal and into the nether without another word, shedding the leather armor he’d been dressed in as he went. No one even said goodbye. He began walking towards his base, faster and faster until he was in a full sprint. He didn’t stop until he was forced to, standing in the thin veil of his nether portal, waiting for the fresh air of The Perimeter.

His heart still beat like he was being chased, although he never had been in the first place. The true horror of Zedaph’s little game was growing on him moment by moment, and Doc wondered if his heart rate would ever slow again, and if he’d be able to wash all of Zed’s blood from his skin.

——

Does anyone remember the zedaph armor stand army video? That was a little creepy.