mc-zb823

[mc-zb823]

Day 2506: The world almost ends...

Short story below

The last thing Tango could recall was laying on the ground in a warm pool of his own blood, staring up at a sea of faces gnashing their teeth and claws into his limbs.

And thinking, none of you are Jimmy.

Then everything burned away into darkness.

Yet the world did not end.

It reformed itself a pool of indiscernible reds, an incomplete, deafening whisper, and a biting stench.

A barrier draped itself out over it all. The first shape to ever form, outstretched to block out the colours and sounds and smells. The first feeling accompanied it, something soft and structured, dragging the whole world back down.

And Tango thought for the first time, and he thought, that is Jimmy.

The world was swallowed once more, in its infancy before anything could take form. So, it tried again.

This time it created more than just red. Blacks, blues, greens. Yellow. Tango reached out for it, but had no body with which to do so. Trapped by nothing. There were sounds but they were somewhere else where he wasn’t. Skin he did not have itched and burned. If he could only exist enough to reach, but what little there was soon slipped away. The first, last, and only thing this Tango knew was despair.

So, it tried again.

In this one Tango had a body, he knew, but it was a cage. Cold, stiff, unyielding to him rattling it, begging for freedom. He still couldn’t reach Jimmy, only a shadow in the pool. He screamed, but it made no sound, and he went unseen.

So, it tried again.

Everything burned. Not an inch of his cage went unbitten. If he could he would tear it all off. This time Jimmy heard him, but it did Tango little good. There were too many sounds, too many smells, and they all ripped him apart until there was nothing left.

So, it tried again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until finally the world began to settle into place.

Tango peeled open his eyes, staring up at the clouds, body numb and heavy from the pain. It was like his muscles had turned into snakes biting each other every time he moved, but he could move. He could feel, and think, and hear the nearby sound of bird song.

He tried calling out for Jimmy, voice like shards of glass to his throat and ears. It was good enough. There Jimmy was, leaned over him, blocking out the sun. Though it still burned to do so Tango could feel the weight of a hand on his own. He wished he could assure Jimmy that he was fine.

Jimmy watched him silently. Tango reached out for him again, tears in his eyes. “Jimmy.” He croaked, trying to beckon the avian forward. But he would not move. Tango began to sob. “You’re here. You’re here.”

He opened his mouth. It was as though the whole world went silent to listen. No voice came. Nothing but a sickening crunch. Tango’s vision swam, consumed by Jimmy. Old blood poured from his mouth, drenching Tango below, around the mangled remains of beating flesh. No light filled his eyes, not the bright light of the sun or his own inner sunshine he always carried, or even the black flames consuming his wings. They were as lifeless as the dried mould clinging to his jaw bone and the grey of his cheek.

Tango couldn’t scream.

His own heart wrenched him awake. The rest of him delayed, eyes darting and muscles cramping. Something was squeezing his left arm to death until it was numb. His eyes began to sting from the light piercing right into them. A muffled voice filled the air, and a shadow cast over to block the sun.

“Are you okay?” It asked.

Tango was in too much pain to reply. The shadow stretched out far to canopy the whole sky from view. Wings. They were wings. Tango gasped, trying desperately to call out. “J-”

But his eyes adjusted soon enough, and before him was not feathers made of fall wheat and butter. These were a dusty brown, only golden in the light of the afternoon sun. The eyes that stared down upon him were a piercing sky blue and the shoulders were far too broad. New panic settled within Tango’s bones. Too much of his body hurt to run away.

“Oh, good, you’re awake this time.” He said, voice most certainly not Jimmy’s. His grin was too sharp. “I was starting to think you were just gonna kick the bucket.” The stranger shifted, grabbing something far beyond Tango’s view. “Which would be quite a shame given how much of my supplies you’ve used up.”

Some brightly coloured cylinder was held up towards his face. A water bottle, Tango’s brain finally provided after several seconds. Tango managed to move his mouth enough to accept, its straw preventing him from spilling too horridly over himself. Even still, he quickly found himself choking, sputtering up much of what made it into his mouth. The stranger hummed to himself, waiting for Tango to cease his coughing before trying again, this time one gloved hand cradling the back of Tango’s head to hold him up just slightly. The water went down much easier. Only after it was taken away did it occur to Tango it may not be the best to trust the liquid. He was already a soft breeze away from death, what did it matter?

Because you still have to find Jimmy.

The stranger yelped, but Tango ignored him as he tried to push himself up. “Hey, there!” Hands found their way to the back and front of his torso, the only thing keeping him from collapsing back down as the brief pulse of energy abandoned him. “You took at least fifteen chomps, there, buddy, you’re in no condition to be on your feet.”

Tango tried to explain himself, tried to yell at the man. But all he could get out when he said Jimmy’s name was a squeak that tore up his throat. Insufficient. Though he tried to fight back, the stranger laid him back down. Tango tried not to sob. Everything hurt, everything was going horridly wrong, and his rancher was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. He’d follow soon enough at this rate. It was all so pointless-

Warmth wafted through the air. Sweet and achingly familiar. Tango’s head lulled to watch the stranger as he held up a fork towards him, the fluffy pasty dotted with berries and dripping syrup. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda live off instant pancake mix at the moment. If you can eat.”

Tango wasn’t sure he could, but he accepted the offer anyways. Even just the smell would have brought tears to Tango’s eyes if he could cry. The bites kept coming until Tango hadn’t the strength to eat anything more. His body screamed at him to both stop and eat, desperate for the food Tango had been denying it and lacking the strength to continue, stomach rolling in that fashion that he knew meant it would all come back up if he tried.

Silence returned while the stranger finished the rest, most of it still there. Anything else might have made Tango throw up from the smell anyways. All he could think of instead was breezy summer mornings, sat at an uneven oak table covered in blemishes that they never got around to replacing, throwing plastic tablecloths over instead. Coffee that became tea that became increasingly questionable flower water that became tea once more. The distant sounds of mooing and much closer sounds of barking, and, somewhere in between, a bird song matching whatever was on the stereo.

Why had they left? They should have stayed on the ranch. He should have tried harder to convince Jimmy not to go, should have put his foot down. When that bridge came into view he should have immediately turned them back around. They saw the ocean, and what good did it do them? Jimmy died, lost and far away from home, and Tango would soon join him...

The next time Tango woke up it was early morning. Something loud had ripped him from his slumber, but he could not for the life of him recall what it was. As best he could he looked around, and found the stranger shutting a cabinet set against a far wall. Tango must have made some sort of noise, because his head immediately swivelled towards him. “You’re awake again.” He said, matter of factly. There was too much energy in his hops to a kitchen. Did all avians wake up at the crack of dawn?

It was almost hard to watch the man, actually. Tango had seen it with Grian, but it hadn’t registered. Because he was a puffball and it only seemed natural, or because he’d never had reason to note it. This strangers talons similarly rarely touched the ground, taking leaps and bounds to reach for anything. Wings casually unfurled themselves to glide him across the room. It was so different to Jimmy, who stumbled his way everywhere, only used his wings for balance.

More food was set in front of him, this time a small bowl of mixed berries. “I already ate.” Explained the stranger while he held out a spoonful. “If it’s too hard to chew I can blitz it into a smoothie.”

“No.” Tango croaked. Easier than last time, but his throat still felt like it was splintering.

The stranger quietly fed him. The sun was quickly rising, but the avian didn’t seem to have anywhere to be. At some point Tango thought he heard the bark of a dog, but no one else came into the sky-lit room. The stranger’s clothes were not the sort one wore when they knew zombies were nearby. His sweater was sleeveless and his gloves were for sport, to keep frog scratching his hands and keeping a good grip, rather than the heavy leather work gloves Jimmy wore. The sort of thing they’d wear on peaceful days at the ranch, not the city Tango thought he was last in.

“So,” The man rocked his head slightly as he put the half-empty bowl aside. “You got a name, stranger? If you’re up for talkin’ of course.”

“Tango.” His voice scratched worse than it usually did, almost incoherent to his own ears. No long sentences, then. “You?”

“Wels, at your service.” He did a small bow, smile widening. “There’s not a lot of survivors out here these days, Tango. You musta come quite a ways?”

He nodded, wincing at the sting in his neck. Had he been bitten there? “We came from the mountains.”

Wels’ eyebrow rose. His hands began moving just outside Tango’s vision, fiddling with something. “’We’, huh? Run into some bad luck?”

“I’m looking.” Tango quickly snapped. “We got separated. He’s here.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

Of course he didn’t. Tango had never been the optimistic sort. It was Jimmy who comforted them when things went wrong, calmed Tango down when he lost his temper. Thought there’d be an adventure to have exploring uncharted territory. If it was Jimmy here and now instead, he’d be just as determined as day one. Tango couldn’t do that, could barely hope to even find a body. But... “If I stop looking, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The room fell quiet. A rough hand lifted the stump of Tango’s left arm, peeling something off it. It stung, but not as much as the air did seconds later. Tango grit his teeth. It last too long, but eventually it subsided into a dull ache. Even without looking he knew it was swollen and ugly, raw from wearing his arm for too long. It would take too much time to pull on and off without help. Why was he so stupid as to design it that way? Like he’d never be alone?

The dog outside continued to bark.

“Well, then,” Wels sighed. “Guess if you gotta keep looking then I’ll have to keep my eyes open, too.”

Tango strained to shake his head, “You don’t have to-

“Hey, it’s my city. Who better to keep an eye out? Besides,” He stood up, spreading his wings wide enough to block out the skylight, “You aren’t really getting out of bed any time soon, and you can’t exactly get back down without my help anyways.”

“Down?” Tango murmured to himself, turning towards the sunlight.

His vision was still a mess, but he could see it. Behind stacks of supplies and reorganized furniture was a wall-wide glass balcony, doors wedged wide open. Peeking over the rail was the very top of a half-dozen skyscrapers he recognized from the ground.

Wels hopped over towards the open doors, grabbing various items from a table. A bag, rope, a sword- was that metal gauntlets? By the time he’d kitted out he looked like he’d raided a museum exhibit. When he noticed Tango’s staring he gave him a grin and a thumbs up. “Gotta go for a water and medicine run. Be back before the sun sets.” He jumped up onto the railing, but paused. “Say, uh, what’d your buddy look like? In case I run into him.”

“Blond.” Tango rasped. “Lanky, bit taller than you. Long yellow wings. Should be with a big black dog with no eyes. Hopefully...”

Something in the man’s wings tensed, smile falling away. “A canary avian?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you- how did you say you got separated.”

“He was gone when I woke up. He kept-”

“Wandering off?”

The blazeborn’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah... What-”

But Wels unfurled his wings once more, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll talk later, when I get back. You should rest up, get back on your feet.”

With that he was gone.

Tango could feel his heart hammering in his chest, wounds pulsing down his limbs. He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. How on earth was he supposed to rest after that?

[mc-zb823]

ahemmm. taps mic. Soooo do you wanna explain the crack in tango's back, orrr 🎤 because I KNOW he didn't get that from blowing up on the moon. this boy is BLAST RESISTANT.

tgats crazy that you would ask that actually

[mc-zb823]

snippet from an AU that started on discord that is, briefly, an AU where Tango is a retired footballer (soccer) turned sports commentator/interviewer and Jimmy is a popular footballer that's desperately trying to seem Smart and Impress Tango.

"You know, I remember watching you play as a kid." Jimmy is smiling as he says this, a sort of sideways smirk. But even the (beautiful) playful look in his (beautiful) brown eyes cannot distract from the actual words being said.

"Oh?" Tango replies, managing not to sound like he was actively being stabbed—instead, only that he had recently been stabbed. Behind the camera, Tango's annoying coworkers cover their snickers. Jimmy nods, thankfully ignoring them.

"At the Olympics!" He says cheerfully. "I finally remembered—that's when I saw you the first time."

"At the Olympics," Tango repeats and closes his eyes for a moment. Sure, playing at the Olympics were definitely one of the highlights of his career, a great memory even though they didn't medal. The Olympics were also over 20 years ago.

Tango opens his eyes and tries to recover. He makes plenty of jokes about being old; he can roll with this. He laughs and says, "I'm not sure I even want to ask how old you were."

"Eight," Jimmy says easily—another horrible horrible blow. "I remember seeing your assist, in that first match?" He does a little kick with his left leg, a shockingly close recreation of the assist in question. Tango remembers that assist, can practically feel the ball against his cleat, hear the yells of his team as the ball hit the net.

"I can't believe you remember that!" Tango says with another self-deprecating laugh because, well, he can't. There's so many other moves Jimmy could remember, even just from those Olympics, from other more impressive players.

Jimmy just shakes his head, ruffling his (beautiful) hair. "It was really cool," he says with frank, almost painful honesty. "I think that was the first time I seriously thought about what someone other than a striker could do."

What can Tango even say to that? How can he possibly convey how amazingly old and horribly impressive that makes him feel? To have any sort of impact on Jimmy's career—but for it to have been when he was stupid and 22. He can't even begin to explain any of it—and he's certainly can't do it on air.

Instead he laughs again and says, "You still became a striker though!" and pretends he doesn't see the tiny way Jimmy's (beautiful) smile falters.

[mc-zb823]

i’ve taken to drawing hermits on the little ‘thank you’ cards i send with my hctcg card trades

[mc-zb823]

i know in mcyt spaces we always say characters arent their creators and i agree. but also i stand by the fact that the mcyt characters are so interesting BECAUSE they're half roleplay half reality.

like a lot of the decisions dsmp characters made felt real, because half the time it was basically just the streamers doing what they, a real person, would do in that situation, y'know? same with how the hermits are so charming because you're just watching real friends interact. the blend of fiction and reality makes them multifaceted in ways u dont always get with characters that are 100% fictional and i rly love that about the medium.

[mc-zb823]

valuable life lessons from minecraft:

eye contact is dangerous

don't eat rotten meat

you have to sleep sometimes or else the phantoms get you

[mc-zb823]

prope.......property husbands............................. *crumples into a pile on the floor*

[mc-zb823]

tango as a warm up

he tripped and fell and messed up the redstone

[mc-zb823]

I wish we got a proper villain arc out of him but sadly he is too wet paper bag coded

[mc-zb823]

Somehow Lady Gaga is only 38, meaning she’s probably the same age (or similar) as Ethoslab. I’d like to present a new theory

[mc-zb823]

Hermit a Day May: Day 15, False, The Huntress!

@falsesymmetry And here's her full portrait without the text and background:

[mc-zb823]

Hermit-a-day 15: False!

I just had some fun with this one, so it’s all very… loose? I’m not sure what to call it but it was a good time!

[mc-zb823]

[day 15] If you think you can stop the symmetry, that's False!

[mc-zb823]

i luv them,,, <3

[mc-zb823]

Hermits on horsies? ::D of you choice

okay i know jimmy isnt a hermit but i saw horses -> yeehaw -> ranchers so

I'm not taking anymore requests at the moment, I am just finishing the ones in my inbox.

[mc-zb823]

also on ao3 here!

special delivery

Pearl was fairly certain this was not in her job description. 

She supposed she had agreed to do special deliveries and while she would not necessarily count this as one because there was a permit for these kinds of jobs – though she figured that since there was no transaction involved she wasn’t breaking the law and then technically this was not necessarily a job for the man with the mob permit – this was still something she would have called Scar for. If he was available that was. Which brings her to the next problem.

Scar was currently very small, very grey, and a little feathery. And also in her mailbag.

Pearl did know a little about the vex thing. Not a whole lot, it didn’t really come up all that often, but at least she knew enough to realize that the little creature she had spotted inside one of the chests of the explosive firework shop was Scar. She had noticed the chest wasn’t properly closed when she had been restocking her flower truck and she would hate it if rainwater ruined the fireworks that from what she’d heard could cost Cub more to make than he was selling them for, so she had decided to help the man out and close the chest. Only to find a very small Scar in it.

She had no idea what to do with a vex though. Especially with a vex that seemed very much to be sleeping and showing zero signs of planning on waking up any time soon. So she had carefully picked Scar up where he had been curled up in the middle of the fireworks and gently placed him in her bag, glad that she had already delivered all the mail that had been there earlier.

She was also, for once, glad that her donkey was as slow as it was. It made the journey to the one person she figured could probably help her with this issue a little more steady. Steady was what she needed right now – she didn’t trust herself to fly or even run with a literal person in her bag.

The journey took a while, and every now and then she looked into her bag to make sure everything was alright. Each time Scar seemed just as asleep as the last time and she briefly wondered if he was maybe unconscious and not just sleeping – but he seemed to be tossing and turning a little so she wasn’t too worried. Surely Cub would know what was up.

Pearl couldn’t say she was surprised she saw sculk when Cub’s area came into view. The extent of it was mildly terrifying though, especially as he resided quite close to her, but she paid it no mind. She had more important things to worry about, like finding Cub (and maybe hoping that he was not covered in sculk). 

“Cub?” she called as she got off the donkey. She didn’t have a lead and there weren’t any fence posts nearby anyway – she would just have to hope the donkey wouldn’t wander off the pathway into the sculk. “You around here?”

She heard the sound of a firework going off and quickly a rather normal-looking (aside from all the dye stains) Cub landed before her. 

“Hey hey,” Cub greeted her. “What’s up? Good to see you, Pearl.”

“I have a special delivery for you,” Pearl explained, putting on her slightly more professional mail lady voice. 

“Hmm?” Cub hummed, obviously curious. “Intriguing. I don’t remember buying anything or signing up for anything.” 

“Yeah, about that…” Pearl opened her bag and held it out enough for Cub to be able to look inside. He took a few steps forward to peek into the bag and then let out a little amused sound.

“I see, I see,” Cub nodded, reaching into the bag. Pearl winced a little as Cub picked up the sleeping vex by the scruff of his neck like one might hold a small kitten – she was certain Cub knew how to handle a vex miles better than she did but after spending the better part of the last hour being as careful as she could it did catch her off guard a little. Scar didn't seem to mind, still deep asleep. “Where did you find him?”

“He was sleeping amongst the fireworks in a chest at your shop,” Pearl said as she watched Cub cradle the vex in his arms – or rather his arm, he didn’t really need both of his arms to hold something so small. “I figured that might not have been the best place for him.”

“Makes sense, makes sense,” Cub nodded and Pearl had no idea what exactly about this was making sense to Cub, but she was glad something was. “Thank you for bringing him here, I’ll take care of him.”

Cub looked like he was about to turn around and leave to do whatever one did to care for a vex and Pearl couldn’t stop her curiosity. 

“Cub? Can I ask a question before you go?” 

The man paused. “Sure, of course,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry which did ease Pearl’s nerves a little. “Shoot.”

"Why?” she asked and it came out a little less polite than she was hoping for. “I mean, is he like, alright? I’ve never seen that happen before. Had me a little worried there.”

Cub seemed to either not notice her tone or simply not care. “Just means he’s really tired. Like really really tired. Nothing too serious, I’ll talk to him about it.” Scar turned a little in Cub’s hold almost like he knew he was being talked about. “It happens sometimes, every now and then.”

“He’ll just be back to normal once he’s rested?” All of this was raising more questions than answering them, but she didn’t want to pry. 

“Yep,” Cub confirmed. “He seems to like sleeping in chests, not the first time he’s been found in one. I’ve never tried to put him in a shulker box, do you think I could mail him?”

Pearl just stared at him. “Please do not try to mail Scar.”

[mc-zb823]

Hey can you guess who my favorite ddvau character is

Ddvau by the lovely @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11!!