#hermitcraft ficlet

[evilrat-sabre]

Never look a gift horse in the mouth or so the saying says. A bunch of bullshit if you ask Bdubs, he has some very colorful words to say to the IDIOT that said this for the first time.

Bdubs just looked at the literal gifted horse in the mouth and it frickin exploded.

The short player is thrown across his half mansion shared yard by the impact of the explosion, he stays there for the exact amount of three seconds. Then looking at the 4 smoking hooves of what one day was a horse, he gets up and looks stupidly at his neighbor. He raises his charred eyebrows and asks with the most leveled voice he could muster.

"Doc. WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED TO THAT HORSE?!"

The creeper cyborg shrugs looking amused.

"Idk what youre talking man. The horse looks fine to me."

He points at the horse that is indeed looking very fine, the white stallion is peacefully eating some wheat, acting like he wasn't just a bunch of charred remains some second ago.

"HOW?!? DOC WHa" Bdubs tries to get close to the horse, but it explodes again when the player tries to touch it.

"The wonders of bioengineering my friend!." The honestly crazy scientist explains happily "I put my Zedaph IOU to good use, if you understand what I am saying." He says giggly, winking his organical eye at Bdubs

"Well, have fun neighbor!"

The creeper hybrid enters his half part of the mansion leaving Bdubs alone to take care of the explosive horse.

…

Bdoubleo100 was blown up by Zed and Doc's totally not explosive horse.

<VintageBeef> You okay there?

<Tango> Zed what did you do?

<Zedaph> science!

<Docm77> vengeance.

<Bdoubleo100> doc committed crimes against nature again.

[wren-kitchens]

midnight ramblings

I was looking through my wips and found this so here you go lmao

it’s set (obviously) in s8, scarian, if you can think of any tws I need to put please tell me!

“I think we might die.”

grian and scar are perched precariously on the roof of the swaggon, occasionally having to pull the other back onto the flatter part of the slippery copper. the moon is big—hardly a fraction of what it’ll soon be—but big, and the blocks are flying too high for comfort, and grian hasn’t slept for weeks, and the world is in disarray.

scar had come to grian’s house a few hours prior, babbling about something to do with bdubs and the moon’s child and sacrifices that grian just couldn’t make out. but scar looked upset and scared, and grian knew that why he was feeling that couldn’t be helped or changed. 

so, because there was nowhere else really to go, grian brought scar up to the roof and tried to distract him. and it’s worked, they’re distracting each other (because scar of course noticed how equally terrified grian is of all this) very well. but grian is far to tired to filter himself properly, and to be fair it doesn’t seem like they have a lot of time left. so he says it.

scar scoffs a little. “you think, huh?”

grian is laying on his front, staring at midnight alley. “i’m fairly certain.”

“gee, what gave you that idea?” scar asks sarcastically. grian’s noticed that in situations where scar is scared, he typically reverts to sarcasm. he reckons it’s a way of deflecting. “couldn’t be the moon hurtling towards us, could it?”

“no, it’s the fact that we’re on a slippery roof.” grian says. “of course it’s the moon, scar.”

scar is quiet for a moment, and his voice is heartachingly small when he speaks. “why do you think this is happening, g?”

grian sighs. he wishes he could hold scar close and tell him it’s okay, that he can fix it. “I don’t know.” he admits. “I wish I did.”

“mumbo doesn’t.” scar says. “that much is clear.”

grian chuckles. “yeah. I should sleep at some point, whatever he’s doing isn’t working.”

“it’s a good phantom farm at least.” scar says. “i’ll give him that.”

“and the redstone on the statues is cool. or was, when it worked.” grian grins.

“yeah.” scar laughs along. 

grian looks at him. his eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles. under them are dark smudges, not nearly as big as grian’s but still promenant. his hair is starting to grow shaggy, his suit jacket a little unkempt, skin stained with dirt and oxidised rust from the copper. 

he is, despite it all, beautiful. 

under the silvery light of the bulbous moon, scar looks ethereal. the way it floods his features akin to water over a marble statue makes grian’s heart swell. if grian were to die right now, with this image as the last thing he sees, he wouldn’t mind.

scar turns to him and grins. “taking in the view or about to fall asleep?”

“neither.” grian says easily. “debating whether or not to push you down the roof.” 

“hey!” scar pouts and grian bursts out laughing.

“okay, okay, you’re very handsome and i’m sorry for wanting to push you.” grian smiles. 

“too right I am.” scar says. “you’re very handsome too.” he adds, a softer note to his voice.

“why, thank you.” grian preens.

scar smiles at him, gaze lingering. grian watches as his eyes flicker up and down, from his eyes to his lips and back again. grian finds himself wanting to push his body into scar’s, be held by him until the end of time, scar’s hand in his hair and lips against his forehead.

grian sits up. “come over here, for a moment?”

scar’s eyes narrow with suspicion, but must notice the shy tone in grian’s voice as he nods, and shuffles up the roof to grian. grian immediately climbs into his arms.

“you’re like jellie.” scar chuckles, jokily petting his hair. “what’s up?”

“too tired to figure that out.” grian decides, face buried in scar’s suit jacket. “I wanted to hug you. you’re a very huggable person.”

“I get that a lot.” scar says, like he’s surprised. 

“anyone ever tell you you’re a very kissable person either?” grian smiles to himself.

“I- well, as a joke, I suppose.” scar says, starting to stumble over his words in the endearing way he does when he’s embarrassed. “why?”

grian pulls back and plants a kiss on scar’s nose. “‘cause you are.” he kisses his cheeks, grinning. 

he knows if he wasn’t sleep deprived to the point of it being a medical emergency, he would no way have the confidence to do this. but he mentally thanks mumbo for making this weird cult thing, because it’s lead to the rare treat of seeing scar flustered.

scar’s face fills with colour, and his eyes widen. if grian looks carefully, he can see that scar’s pupils are a little wider than normal.

“oh- oh, g, you’re. you’re very kind.” scar stammers. “I, um. thank you.”

grian’s face must visibly light up, because scar quickly adds, “whatever you’re thinking, mister, don’t do it.”

“scar,” grian says. “would you object to me kissing you.” 

grian doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more flustered than scar is right now. 

“I- well, I mean-“ scar is looking around frantically, avoiding grian’s gaze. “that, um. that’s an interesting question, i’m not-“

“scar, yes or no.” grian is starting to doubt his judgement. what if he was wrong, and scar doesn’t love him back, and he’s just ruined their friendship, and-

grian’s internal litany of impending doom is cut off when scar says,

“i- I don’t think i, ah. would object to that.”

grian blinks. “really?” he asks, poorly hiding his excitement.

“well, I mean,” scar turns and finally looks at grian. his expression is heartachingly shy. “you’re a pretty kissable person too.”

grian inhales. “oh.” 

“sorry, um. to clarify, do- do you love me?” scar asks, blushing at himself. “‘cause I don’t want to assume or anything.” he adds quickly. “not that it’s bad if you don’t- it’s okay if you don’t, obviously. I wouldn’t wanna pressure you into saying something you don’t believe or-“

grian presses a quick kiss to scar’s lips. when he pulls away, he grins shyly.

scar stares at him for a moment. “is- is that a hint for me to stop talking?” he asks.

“yes, because I can’t get a word in edgeways.” grian tells him. “how else am I supposed to say yes?”

“oh.” scar’s voice is ever so soft, and he’s looking at grian like he’s only the person alive, and it’s all too much for his sleep deprived brain but he’s so happy.

“if we die,” grian says. “will I be able to go out, calling you my boyfriend?”

“only if I can call you mine.” scar smiles, like he’s surprised at just how well this night is going. 

“then i’d say we have a deal.” grian says, burying himself in scar’s embrace again. 

“g.” scar says gently. 

“mhm?”

“we should sleep.”

grian reluctantly looks up. “I think you’re right.”

“I don’t think we should sleep here.” scar says. 

“scar,”

“yeah?”

“i’m too tired to move.” grian says.

“you nightmare.” scar says, so fond it almost breaks grian’s heart. “alrighty mr birdie, let’s get you to bed.”

scar opens his elytra, before scooping grian up in his arms. 

“i’m only sleeping if you stay with me.” grian says, eyes already drooping shut.

“i’m not leaving you, g.” scar assures him.

“i’m going nowhere.”

[fishbloc]

"it doesn’t feel like much of a victory at all. there was room for love here. there was room for a lot of things. but none of it matters in the end. if it all goes to waste, i'll take my punishment for having loved."

[theminecraftbee]

zombie joe?

Cleo buries her head in her hands and screams.

"There there," Joe says, incredibly awkwardly. "While I, personally, have never failed to shuffle off this mortal coil like this before, I've seen a lot of movies, and I'm lead to believe this is the kind of thing zombies do on accident all the time. It's like, the thing zombies are known for!"

"They're going to kick me out," Cleo says, half-miserable and half-furious. "I just got here and they're going to kick me out."

"They're not going to kick you out," Joe says, looking even more awkward. "Er, I mean. Not that I'd know how you got here in such a way that I know the other hermits won't kick you out or nothing, you'll find I have no way of knowing, since we're supposed to be doing things by consensus, but I also do know, because they aren't going to kick you out."

"I panicked and bit you!" Cleo says. "I got crowded, panicked, and bit you."

"Um," Joe says. "Yes, well, that did happen."

"And I turned you into a zombie."

"And it's really quite bracing!" Joe says. The awkward tone to his voice has gotten higher-pitched. There's a certain level of forced cheer to it. Cleo doesn't know if she appreciates it or if it makes her want to scream even more. "I mean, typically I have a heartrate, but I don't, right now! And even though my heart would normally be racing when I panic, it isn't! Also, I bet I could cut off my finger with next-to-no consequences, which makes it suddenly really tempting to--"

"Joe!" Cleo says.

"Cleo!" Joe says back.

Cleo sighs. She looks over Joe. She's not sure whether it's very in-character or out-of-character that he barely looks any different, but if it weren't for a certain grey pallor to his skin, the very visible bite mark on his arm, and the fact he is somehow already missing an eye, she might be able to pass him off as not-a-zombie. Unfortunately...

She runs a hand through her hair.

"It's fine. It's fine!" she says. "To tell the truth, I don't know if I'm meant for--"

"I should practice my moaning!" Joe says brightly.

"What," Cleo says flatly.

"You know like. Auuurgh. Grrrrr. Rawr."

"Did you just--rawr?"

"Is that one best?"

"No!"

"How about... rawr~<3!" Joe says, and then immediately starts coughing. "No, no, that was bad, even I know that was bad--"

Cleo can't help it. She starts laughing. Joe appears startled, staring at her like she's a large bear that has suddenly started doing a dance. His expression somehow looks even more wild-eyed with the missing eyeball and the dried blood on his arm from the bite.

"Did that... work?" Joe says.

"I am going to be kicked off of your safe haven server for being a threat to the integrity of the place because I'm infectious and you're rawring at me," Cleo says.

"...I will take that as a win," Joe says. "The laughing! The laughing! Not the getting kicked off, you aren't getting kicked off, I told you what I did to Biffa when I was first invited right--why are you laughing more I'm not even trying to be funny anymore--"

Cleo doesn't have a heart to slow or speed, but just then, she feels like she has a heart to warm. Yeah, sure. She might be in massive trouble, but at least this thing she's built with Joe--that's alright.

[slashmagpie]

Scar has had a day.

A fun day, certainly! He would never say that he didn’t have fun. That would be a lie, and Scar is not a liar. (A schemer, a swindler, yes, but a liar? Why, he’d never!) But several hours of running Decked Out, one near-death-experience after another, has him shaking all over. He’s sweating in places he didn’t even know he could sweat, and his heart is pounding even faster against his ribcage than the dungeon’s at max clank. 

But he had fun, and he’s achieved his goal of two new cards and a victory tome, so he’s about ready to head home to Scarland for some nice relaxing time—

There is something in the hallway with him.

The hair on the back of Scar’s neck prickles, and he can feel the ravager’s breath against his skin, a sudden rush of hot air in the otherwise frozen crypts. He feels his body freeze, lungs ceasing to function without permission, and he needs to run, needs to flee, he’s going to lose—

“You got lucky at the end there. When you were leaving? There was a ravager coming at you across the thing—”

“Oh gosh!” Scar stumbles backwards, heart in his throat, looking up at Tango as he approaches Scar and his shulker deck across the hall. His words spill out of him so fast he stumbles over the sounds, and Tango stops, staring, as Scar nearly keels over backwards from fright. “Jeez, Tango, oh my gosh, I thought you were a ravager, I’m a little still paranoid, it’s been a—a captivating day—”

Scar’s back hits the blackstone rim of the door behind him, and the sudden terror he’d felt at Tango’s presence suddenly vanishes, leaving him sagging against the wall. Tango blinks owlishly, looking around the dungeon like he’s missed something. 

“H-Hi? Do I…?” Tango looks down at himself, like he’s expecting to see something different, like he might suddenly be a beast with shaggy grey fur and deadly horns, and not a Tango in his frosty blue robes. A laugh wheezes its way out of Scar as the relief turns into an odd sort of dizziness. He feels a little sick. “Wow. Scar? You okay…?”

Scar pulls himself out of the corner, towards his friend, because Tango is his friend, and he’s just—he’s just Tango. Not a ravager, or any other kind of danger, just Tango, who’s spent the last thirteen months making this amazing game for all of the hermits, and who Scar is not scared of.

“Y-Y-You get heightened tension, right, when you play? It’s crazy, like—”

“You are on edge,” Tango tells him with a laugh, and Scar laughs along.

“I was on edge!” he agrees, opening his shulker once again so that he can avoid Tango’s gaze. There’s something about his eyes that are just—Scar doesn’t know. He’s not afraid of Tango. Why would he be afraid of Tango?

“Rarr,” Tango jokes, the worst ravager impression in the world, bearing his teeth and raising his hands like claws, and Scar does not jump. “And stuff.”

…Everything is fine, and normal, and Scar just needs—needs to go back to Scarland. And relax. Because his heart is beating too fast, and he’s played a lot of Decked Out, and he’s had a lot of fun, but he’s jumping at shadows, and at Tangos, and that—that simply won’t do.

(And he does not entertain the notion, not even a slightest bit, that maybe it’s not just him—that maybe there is something going on with Tango—because, really, it’s just Tango. Come on.) 

[erdasmcnonsense]

"Say... has Joe always had those colorful floaty eye-thingies around his head?" Scar asks, absentmindedly stroking the fletchings of an arrow.

"I don't think so?" answers Grian, perched on the railing of the HotGuy Tower. "You hear that clinking of chains around him more often these days, too."

The two are silent for a moment, watching Joe play Beef's card game with Cleo. Even from this distance, they can occasionally catch a flash of color from one of the little floating eyes near him.

"Why do you think that is?"

"I think it's Them", Grian says.

"What do you mean "Them"?"

"Eh, you know. Just Them. You know what I mean, right? They can change us, sometimes. Haven't you noticed?"

"I really don't get what you're talking about."

"I wasn't like this-" for a moment Grian is surrounded by a soft purple glow and a halo of eyes, not in all colors of rainbow like Joe's, but purple like the light around him "-before They decided I was, either."

"But I thought that was the Watcher thing?"

"I mean, it sorta was. But it wasn't. I wasn't like this when I first became a Watcher. This happened when They decided that's what Watchers are like."

"Joe's not a Watcher, though, is he?" asks Scar, frowning.

"Nah, he's Something Else."

"You know, it's weird, but recently I've felt like something's changed", Scar says. "Like I don't know what, but something's different. Dreams of like, arenas and fighting people, some of them ones I've never even met. And it's like there's thousands of voices in the back of my head, cheering me on. It's very distracting."

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"Is that Them too?"

"Probably. Almost definitely, actually."

"I feel like I'm sort of racing, competing with Joe, and I'm not even sure what it's about."

"Yeah, that's Them playing games. You don't have to pay too much attention to it, if you don't want to. It might not be a good idea, anyway. Sometimes They like attention, and then sometimes they run and scatter and hide if you give Them any, and you never know what it'll be this time." Grian shrugs. "The good news is though, if Joe has changed because of Their game, he might change back once it's over or They get bored of the game."

"Might?"

"Yeah, might. Or it might stick. They're fickle creatures, it's hard to tell beforehand."

"You know an awful lot about them", Scar points out.

"That's because They used to be Watchers. Until They decided They weren't, but I still was, and made Watchers be something else instead and became not-Watchers."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right. It doesn't. I think that's how They like it."

Before Scar can ask more questions, Grian spreads his wings and takes off.

[amethystfairy1]

Why does Tango wear a crop top? 🤔

Let's find out...

10 Years Ago 

Under-City Labs

“Little spark!” 

“What!? What!?” Tango about toppled from the step-ladder he was sitting on, in order to reach up and tinker with the guts of a massive sorting machine he’d designed for identifying resources from deliveries and then transporting them to the lower levels. 

He spun where he sat to swing his boots over the edge of the step-ladder and peered down. 

Doc was standing there with a supremely disappointed expression on his face. Tango immediately filed back through all of his doing within the past month trying to figure out what he’d messed up this time. 

The creeper mutant tapped one loafer a few times. 

Tango matched ruby red eyes with him, trying to keep any nervousness off his face.

“Y-Yeah? What can I do for ya, Director?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Doc. What can do for ya, Doc?”  

Doc’s natural eye narrowed.

“What are you wearing?”

Tango glanced down at his outfit. Currently he was wearing a redstone streaked old tee shirt he’d long since torn the sleeves off of. It was oversized, to be honest he might’ve stolen it off of Jimmy in high school, he didn’t really remember. His claws were on full display, caked with grime considering he put them use helping him work with the finer wiring.

Instead of using. Y’know. Pliers or something. 

“W-Work clothes? Why?”

“Those are not work clothes. Work clothes are gloves and long sleeves, Tango.” Doc replied with the tone of a mother hen, and the little blaze-born whined in the back of his throat.

“But it’s sooooo hot in here! I’m already on fire!” 

“So you are. That does not mean you cannot get burnt or cut working with these machines.”

“I’m careful…” Tango began but Doc raised his eyebrow at him with a firmly set jaw and folded his arms, augmentation over green skin. 

“…ish.” 

“Gloves and long sleeves.”

“But Doc! I also use these for working with wiring, it’s easier than pliers!” 

Tango made grabby hands down from the step ladder at Doc, clicking the sharpened tips of his claws together.

Doc’s augmented eye adjusted, red glow flickering. He tilted his head and heaved a ragged sigh, raking back longish dark brown hair with his metal hand and planting his other hand on his hip. 

“I can see that, and for small projects that is fine, but not when you’re working in mechanical here.” 

“But it’s so hot.”

“Then take breaks!” 

“I don’t wanna take breaks!”

“Tango!” Doc’s tone dropped one octave from his already deep voice, and Tango flinched. His flares momentarily went out completely before sputtering to life again. He’d been practically raised by this man, and now that he’d started at the labs earlier this year he’d been trying to learn the balancing act of their workplace dynamic.

Which, as it turned out, wasn’t all that different from their dynamic anywhere else. Doc was allergic to authority and despised formality, for the labs was more like a big conglomeration of the under-city’s best and brightest just kind of…figuring things out. There was a loose hierarchical structure, but that was more just so the assignment of workflow would be more comprehensible and less completely and utter chaos. 

So Tango huffed and spun back toward the machine he was tinkering with, shoving his hands up into the wiring, tongue poking out and worrying between his sharp teeth as he shouted back in reply.

“Fine, fine, fine, I hear ya! Gloves and long sleeves from tomorrow on out, you got it!”

The Next Day.

“Tango!”  

Tango fumbled the comparator he was holding and dropped it to the ground with a clatter he jumped so hard when that booming voice shouted over his workshop area within the mechanical branch of the labs. 

“Why have you gotta scare me like that!?” The blaze-born demanded as he turned to see Doc picking his way around the chaos of Tango’s workshop area. It wasn’t exactly organized, but it was organized enough for him, and sure, the last time Pearl had visited him during work hours she’d about had a conniption, but whatever. This was how he worked best. 

“What is that!?” Doc gestured at Tango pointedly. 

“What? You said gloves and long sleeves, so I’m wearing gloves and long sleeves!” Tango was barely able to hold back the mischievous grin that tried to clamber upon his face.

Doc looked him up and down twice.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Gloves and long sleeves. See?” Tango set the comparator he’d been carrying aside and then threw his arms out and made jazz hands. His flares crackles and his blaze-rods danced and twirled to mirror his amusement at Doc’s rather stunned expression.

Tango had traded the old cut-off tee for a tight, bright red cropped long sleeve that cut just beneath his pecs, leaving the entirety of his toned stomach exposed down to his belt, which held several tools as well as a carabiner clip for his gloves. His brown work gloves were new, Doc had gotten them for him as apart of his toolkit for starting work in the mechanical sector of the labs full-time after having helped out more and more since his mid-teens. They still felt a bit stiff, but Tango supposed they’d break in the more he wore them.

Doc planted his head into his hands and groaned. 

“Little spark, you’re going to drive me insane, aren’t you?”

“Pleased to be working with you too!” 

Tango saluted, then spun on his heel to return to his work, his tail coiling and twisting cheerfully behind him, and Doc rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight him anymore on it. 

...

And there you have it! That's why Tango wears a crop top! Because he's a little shit who subscribes to the idea of malicious compliance!

This was a bit short for my taste to post on A03 with the entire series proper, but I felt like just writing it anyway, and I figured would be fun to have them over here! I'll be tagging little stuff like this as 'ttsbc ficlets' and if you have any other small seeming innocuous questions about TTSBC or Traveling Thieves that you think would be fun to see answered in this format, please do send me an ask! I think it'll be fun and as some of y'all who have followed me for awhile may know, I struggle with writing short, so this seems like it'll be good practice!

Hope you liked it! 💖

[khoirkid]

Whumptober Interview with Amethyst!

Before the glorious event that is whumptober, I reached out to Amethyst to ask a bit about her process and what to look forward to. (Everything is shared with her permission.) You can find her tumblr @amethystfairy1 so hop on over and give her some support for October!

Q. How does the writing style and process change for a month-long event verses just writing?

A. I guess with like, my long form stuff, I write with a ton more detail for the month long events, especially since I've done multiple now, I try to pick out a specific thing to center the fic around and use that as a through line, strip it down to it's bones, and just go with that... I try to be a bit more abstract and use extended metaphors for the month long events

Q. How do you find a balance between the TTSBC AU and the TT au?

A. I don't. [A]ctual answer... um...I don't (Interviewer: Well, you know you have a 50/50 split for whumptober, right?) I DO... WAIT... I DO???... THAT WAS A TOTAL ******* FLUKE... you give me far to much credit... no that was a total coincidence

Q. Are there any characters you feel like you’re drawn to for whump?

A. Tango and Scott. [I]ts just because they feel so bright and spunky... so breaking them in different ways is really interesting... And it's different from like, Grian Pearl and Jimmy because with the three of them their fannon characters have such a wide expanse of styles that slotting them into the broken avian mindset wasn't impossible...it was tricky at times for Grian to write him being so docile and obedient because pesky bird and all but even still, with Tango it doesn't fit, and so finding a way to make it fit is super interesting! Same with Scott!

Q. Is there anyone who isn't easy/fun to whump?

A. Everyone is fun to whump in some way... As far as not easy ...Pearl has been tricky, mainly because I write her so as being so solid in her emotions usually

Q. Is there anything you think will surprise readers for the coming whumptober?

A. I think there's a lot more plot relevance than people realize on the way. Several of the fics are... crucial to the plot going forward.

Q. Do these writing challenges help you come up with some of the plot or does the plot just fall into them?

A. Both! The plot has it's shapes and curves already, but doing these writing challenges sometimes helps me put pins in specific themes to tie in important plot points and drive the au forward.

Q. Finally, is there anything readers should watch for and what day are you most excited for?

A. Day 10 and Day 25 will probably be the most plot relevant of the bunch! As well as Day 31! I'm personally the most excited to for Day 10, as I think it's going to be super amazing seeing the response to that from everyone who's been so kind as to follow my AUs for so long!!!! (Interviewer: It's a well done major ouchie) I love thinking about that as I'm writing, especially since both TT and TTSBC have gotten so much love, imagining what folks are going to comment and enjoy about it!

[ahllohehn]

Could we please be blessed with some shiny dou lore?? 🥺🥺 pwetty pwease 🥺🥺 (absolutely no pressure though)

"Gemstone."

"Moonlight!"

The two girls greeted each other, Pearl grinning amusedly at Gem's immediate reaction to the ridiculous nicknaming. The huntress wrapped her bow string over her arm as she went to check Gem for injuries.

"Who left you behind this time?"

Gem pouted and already looked prepared to complain, "Skizz and Joe. Their quest was to retrieve something from Camp Empires, but I didn't really want to come in with them so they just left me out here and forgot me, I think."

Knowing Skizz and Joe, they probably found a fellow musical or theater kid in there and got themselves distracted again, but....

Pearl raised an eyebrow, "This place is 5 kilometers away from that camp, Gem."

The oracle looked around a little shocked, "Geez, maybe following my little oracle heart for directions really wasn't the greatest idea. I wandered that far?!" The brunette didn't respond and gave an expression that silently said 'I don't know you tell me.'

"You should really just stop going along to quests if you're gonna be lost this often," the taller girl took Gem's hand and tugged at it lightly to encourage her to go with her, "Come on, X told me to get you home before nightfall. I'll need to get back to Lady Artemis soon too."

Gem hesitated, feeling bad for having to depend on Pearl again, "Why not just leave me to Camp Empires?"

"I don't know where it is. I've never been there," Pearl said without thinking, causing Gem to pause in confusion.

"But you knew I was 5 kilometers away from it?"

The conversation went in an awkward direction and Pearl looked at Gem in a stunned daze, not moving or speaking until the ginger haired girl called out to her, "Pearl?"

Pearl snapped out of it and looked away with an uncomfortable look, "Oh- uh, sorry. I guess I'm just..." She tried to explain herself but even she's a bit confused with herself, "Uhm.. Camp Empires is..."

The oracle decided to show mercy upon her brain and tugged on Pearl's hand to stop her from continuing on anymore, "I-if X is expecting me then, I'm fine with going home. If that's okay!" She forced a cheery tone, which Pearl responded to with an apologetic smile.

"...Yeah, sure, let's get you home. We can even get some donuts on the way back. Need all the energy you can get when you've spent all yours walking this far."

Gem giggled and followed after Pearl, talking about what she found during her impromptu walk trip to shoo away the awkward moment from their minds, threading carefully to not mention Camp Empires.

[funky-fox-fics]

Jellie gasps awake, trembling slightly, eyes wide. The world is bright. The world was--so dark a moment ago, dark and gold and gone, and now--now it's here again. She flattens her fur.

Stars dance at her paws.

She gets to her feet slowly, swaying slightly, and takes a moment to recuperate. Around her is pollen and stardust, intermingling like brothers. A butterfly lands on her nose, its wings glittering orange. No, she doesn't need to breathe, she realizes, not anymore.

Her first step is tentative, and then the next is confident, and then she walks through this wonderland. The grass is a healthy green below her paws. The sky is bright but filled with stars, and purples--pinks--blues bleed into the horizon before her. She bats at a bug, and it buzzes off.

She's walking for a long time, never tiring, and her mind wanders to her owner--Scar. He was--she loved him, is the thing. She loves him, and now he's--no, she's gone. Not him. Never him. A wail rises from her throat, mourning and hollow, and it tears through the pleasantness of the deserted meadow and takes it over.

She's never going to see him again.

Never.

Jellie crouches low to the ground, and begins to howl her woes into the damp soil, when she hears pawsteps.

She freezes, and turns around.

Three cats - a ginger tabby, a pure white, and a brown tabby with a white chest - stand before her, expressions sympathetic.

"Who are you?" she asks, voice breaking.

"I'm Jake," the ginger meows. "These are Tiger--" he flicks his tail to the brown, "and Angel." He flicks his tail to the white. "You're dead."

"I can tell," she snarls. "I'm never going to see Scar again!"

"That was your owner, yes?" Angel asks, tilting his head.

"Yes."

"Then come with me." Angel whisks his tail. "I watch over my owner too, many a day--you'll be able to see them again too."

Despite her better judgement, she follows them. It seems barely a minute before the grass gives way to translucent mist, which gives way to wind. She can feel the chill of it, hear its whistle below her.

"Look down," Tiger says, dipping his head. "You know where you died; that's how we'll find him."

Jellie flicks her gaze down to her paws, then to the wind. The wind parts, and then she's staring at Scar's room--at her corpse--at her corpse, at her corpse, at her corpse--at Scar. At wonderful, joyful Scar.

Without thinking, she reaches a paw out to him, and suddenly she's down on earth with him, floating just above his head, combing her paw through his hair.

She yanks back, and then she's back in the stars, Tiger staring at her expectantly. "Go on," he meows, tilting his head. "Come back when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You will be." Jake pads forward and noses her shoulder. "Go on down there, and give him a proper send-off. Let him know you're still here."

She nods, brisk and sharp, and goes back down with an outstretched paw.

Scar shivers at her touch--he's still here with his brother, and the nurse. She talks, and Scar occasionally interjects something in a wobbly voice, and Scar's brother is quiet.

She circles her own body, and it's so limp and lifeless that it makes her shudder. She doesn't know how to possess herself, though she wishes she did.

After a few moments of that, she turns back to Scar. Something flutters in her chest--a heartbeat, almost--and for a half-second she and Scar lock eyes and she breathes and she is almost corporeal, almost, almost, and she begins to purr, a rich and deep thing that comes like an engine's hum.

And the moment passes, and Scar's gaze wavers, and he begins to sob, loud and genuine (like he always is). Jellie's purr turns to a caterwaul, and she knows no one can hear it, it's not of the same fullness as her purr, too unreal, too high.

She swims through the air and lands on his lap. She rubs up against him and nearly falls through, but she jerks back with a startled mew. She tentatively leans into his chest, and when she thinks his chest is an obstacle it becomes one, and she mourns in a long meeeeow to the world while Scar leans into her ghostly pelt unknowingly.

She wants to become real again, if only to lick a tear from his chin and taste its salty sweetness.

A flutter in her chest--

She reaches up and licks his chin, and while she's still invisible, Scar cracks open an eye to look at her. His breath is short and quick.

I love you so much, Jellie thinks, turning back into starlight. I hope you never forget me. Please don't ever forget me. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Reluctantly, she lets go of mortality, and joins death in its eternal harmony.

RIP Jellie. You will be missed.

[blitheringbongus]

In which Scar knows he’s in love

In which Scar falls asleep at a Boatem party, and the morning after.

Or: Scars down bad for Mumbo and doesn’t know how to deal with it

Warnings: mentioned alcohol, hangover, headaches, mentioned dying (in Minecraft, where you respawn, nothing painful), mentioned toxic masculinity (only one line, not too severe)

Scar watched the two red lights dance in his blurry vision as they moved in a slow and rythmatic manner. He smiled up at them, they were so pretty, and he felt so heavy. The darkness around his eyes crept closer until he couldn’t see any more. Distant muffled music closed to an end, and he breathed. He could see his breath, cold and unwavering, though fading back into the darkness. He blinked, and god, did he feel that blink. His eyes felt cold and dry. He looked around. Darkness, everywhere. But then, a looming light, overhead, holding that same crimson he saw as he passed out. He watched it with amazement, it didn’t scare him, it comforted him.

He smelled motor oil and pinecones and warmth. He smelled electricity and melted wax and happiness.

And he didn’t smell that familiar cold. He felt warm.

His eyes warmed up, and they weren’t dry anymore, they weren’t freezing. They felt nice, they felt normal.

He looked down and he was fully dressed. He looked beside himself and there were stars. Beautiful, blinking, stars. Were they eyes?

He moved his head to the side, and his face touched something soft. It smelled stronger of that wonderful smell than his surroundings, and so he buried his nose in it, and breathed. And his breath wasn’t to be seen.

—

„Is he smelling you?“ Impulse laughed and pointed at the man, face shoved deep in the neck of his fellow hermit Mumbo. The fellow hermit, in response, laughed nervously with Impulse, and said, „he must be dreaming of smelling pies- like in those old cartoons! You know when they float-„

Grian chuckled and agreed, setting his drink down on the stone floor of The Boatem Hole, „We should prank him,“ he smiled.

Pearl lightly punched his shoulder, „I was just about to get me markers and cream,“ Grian snickered mischievously. „Maybe a mustache, like our CEO‘s?“

They collectively agreed.

—

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to get drunk in The Boatem Hole. A hole that went beneath Bedrock, falling in which would result in certain death in the void, earning that yucky staticy feeling. But the Boatem crew loved that hole, so they had all their meetings there. Including parties. It was really, really stupid. But it was fun.

Many deaths occured that night. Nothing the crew couldn’t handle, though.

The following morning, Scar would awaken in his own bed, it was warm and it was comfortable. It would be more comfortable if he hadn’t had that headache, he realized as a pang of pain shot through his head.

Scar sat up, and dragged his hand over his face, trying to wake himself up a bit.

He blinked slowly, something felt absent. What felt absent? He looked around. There was a glass of water and some pills on the side of his bed, huh. He usually wasn’t that prepared- someone must’ve put it there… maybe Jellie?

He washed a pill down with the water, and groggily got up. He was in his clothes from the day before, minus his Jacket, shoes and corset. Hey, when’d he take his vest off?

He blinked slowly, and noticed his missing clothes folded neatly on the ‚couch‘ in his room. The builder scratched his head. His mouth tasted disgusting, he should brush his teeth.

He sighed, and he sauntered to the bathroom.

It looked fairly normal, unchanged. He stepped infront of the mirror and reached for his toothbrush, putting paste on it, wetting it up, reaching it towards his mouth, looking up, and stopping-

He nearly dropped his toothbrush as he exhaled a quiet laugh. His face was scribbled all over! He started brushing his teeth, and observed his general appearance. He has a quite dashing mustache drawn on his upper lip, long and curled at the end. ‚Almost like Mumbos‘ he thought, but he knew, nothing could match the mustacheness of Mumbos mustache. A drawn monocle adorned his face, although that one looked less dashing, and more crude. Definitely Grian. He had whiskers drawn on his face in squiggly lines, Pearl, and a shaky heart on his jaw, Impulse. Now where did Cub draw? Was he even at the party? Scar wasnt even sure if Cub was a part of Boatem.

His hair was a disaster, to put it lightly. Hairstrands were sticking up and to the side in places they shouldn’t and those were. Quite a few knots. That’s going to be hell to comb. What happened last night?

His suspenders were down, hanging against the sides of his thighs. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, and his sleeves, well, one sleeve was rolled up, and one sleeve wasn’t. Both were unbuttoned.

He definitely had to shower.

He spit the toothpaste into the sink and washed his mouth and toothbrush respectively.

Scar stretched with a wince as he heard his neck and back pop.

After his well needed shower, and getting dressed, Scar grabbed some food and exited his wagon, wincing at the sunlight. Grumbling over the sun, and the fact that he was unable to scrub the marker off, he merely smudged it, he ate and searched for Grian, making a beeline towards the mans house.

He knocked on the mans door and waited barely two seconds before opening it, entering the pesky birds home. „I know what you did, Gri!“ he called into the home, and he heard a muffled noise coming from Grians bedroom.

He went up the stairs, and he knocked on Grians door, and he opened it, finding Grian still half asleep in his bed, wearing the same clothes as yesterday like Scar did when he woke up. His fellow builder emidded whiny noises, „shhhsjihs quietttt Scarrr“ he drew out, burying his face in his pillow and lifting the sides of it to cover his ears.

„What happened last night?“ Scar asked simply, he only remembers the smell of melted wax and warmth, among other things, but he couldn’t seem to remember anything else, only blurry images, none of which he could yet identify. How wasted did he get?

Grian responded with a snore, and Scar knew he was asleep, so he left the mans home. He’ll prank him for this later, he’ll prank all of them! He shook his fist at the angry sun, and he audibly whined at the bright beams of it.

Who’s next on his list.. he looked around, either Impulse or Pearl or Mumbo. Who would be awake at this time? Both Impulse and Mumbo were early risers, but Scar genuinely had no clue where Impulses living quarters were in that huge base of his. And so, he chose Mumbo.

He made his way towards Treesa, and he weakly climbed her vines, and he fell, and he groaned, and he climbed again.

Now inside the mustached mans base, he blinked his eyes a few times, and he smelled pinecone, and he smelled motor oil.

He inhaled the scent, and the light was just right in Treesa. He moved the vines to cover up the makeshift doorway, and he sauntered to search for Mumbo.

He found him fairly easily, he was still sleeping in bed, in his van, it seemed. What time was it? How come Scar awoke before Mumbo or seemingly Impulse? He shrugged, and he leaned down to get a better look at Mumbo, the only hermit he’s seen today covered by a blanket whilst sleeping. He looked peaceful, and the smell of electricity and warmth strengthened.

He kneeled, and he gently shook the mans shoulder, and Mumbo huffed, and Mumbo rolled over.

Scar couldn’t help but smile.

He leaned over and onto the bed partially, his torso hovering over it, and he shook the mans shoulder again. „Pssst, Mumbooo wakey wakey eggs and bakey, dude!“ he almost whispered.

He’s more gentle with Mumbo than with Grian, he knows why, but he won’t admit it to himself. He knows why he looks at him differently than the other Boatem members, he knows why he wants to learn every last detail of the man, he knows why every touch they share feels electric to him, he knows why he dreams of him, and he knows why-

Scar was pulled out of his thoughts by the noise of Mumbo groaning. The redstoner blinked his eyes open slowly, looking up and above at the builder looming over him.

His eyes were half lidded and glossy, his usually neat dark hair was messy and curled.

„Scar?“ Mumbo muttered out, muffled by the blanket covering the underside of his face. He tugged the blanket away from it slowly, going below his neck.

Suddenly, Scar forgot all about why he went to wake Mumbo up, he just looked down at him and felt that tug in his chest again.

He was so pretty.

Could a man be considered pretty? Could a man be considered beautiful? Scar grew up being taught those terms were rude to refer a man to, but those were also the only words Scar found himself being able to describe the man below him. He was pretty and he was beautiful and oh gods he was in love.

„Scar?“ Mumbo tilted his head, tired and confused, and Scar wanted to kiss him. He’d never.

The builder blinked a few times before his brain started working again. „Hm? Oh, right! Mumbo! Do you have any idea what happened last night? Because my brain completely blanked yesterday,“

Mumbo reached up to rub his own eyes, leaning up a bit on his elbows, which made Scar lean back a bit, they were so close.. „Well you fell asleep, and so we decided to draw on your face, I figure you’ve already made out that part?“ he said in a soft voice, it was almost faint, the man was still waking up. Scar wanted to hear his voice like that every morning.

Scar chuckled, „yes, yes. I’ve made out that much, but what else? I honestly barely remember anything!“ „well what do you remember?“ Mumbo sat up more, not having to lean on his elbows anymore, and Scar leaned back further, opting to instead get up and sit on the mans bed. „Mh..“ Scar looked at Mumbo in thought. „Well, I remember that at some point we played duck duck goose?“ „Oh that was before we even touched any alcohol, how quickly are you able to get black out drunk-„

Mumbo looked at the man with bewilderment in his eyes, but he still looked tired. „I’m a lightweight,“ he simply answered. „Hey, how about we talk about this when you’re more awake, hm?“ Scar put a hand on Mumbos shoulder and guided him to lay down again, Mumbo complied.

The tired redstoner made an agreeing noise, and slowly moved himself so he’s laying on his side, curled up and quickly slipping back into dreamland.

Scar watched, and Scar wanted to stay. Was he allowed to? The sight of his fellow hermit falling asleep so quickly and so easily made him tired all the same. He could lay with him, for a bit. He’d get up and leave before Mumbo does. He yawned, and he laid down gently beside the man, watching the back of his head. He rarely sees the mans hair ungeeled, it looked so soft. He wanted to touch it, he wanted to touch him, he didn’t.

He laid his hands folded underneath his head, and closed his eyes, smelling motor oil and pinecones and warmth, smelling electricity and melted wax and happiness.

And he fell asleep, and he was happy.

[dmwrites]

“Scott?”

“Mm?”

“Will you tell me a story?”

Scott hummed, shifting to a sitting position and looking out over Jimmy’s cod empire. Jimmy smiled up at him, still laying back on the picnic blanket, content after a good meal.

“There’s this story I was told as a kid, well, more like a prophecy, really.”

“Oo, a prophecy? Go on.”

“I would if you’d be quiet.” Scott said back with no heat in his voice. He was too content by his day with Jimmy, and now a memory so curious. “The legend, prophecy, story, what have you, went like this: one day, there will come a man who walks on lands we will abandon. He will not be from here. He is not a god, not a man, but a traveler. He does not know what he seeks, or why, but he doesn’t stop walking. I think the story’s just trying to say he’s lost.”

“How is that a prophecy?” Jimmy asked.

Scott chuckled. “I suppose it is more of a story then a prophecy. But my family always said it more like it was fact then fiction. Maybe it’s just a reminder that nothing lasts forever. But I don’t know how on earth some random stranger is supposed to get here after we’re all gone. Like, surely the world will have all exploded or something by that point, right?”

“You’re getting existential again.” Jimmy elbowed him playfully. “Well, either way, it’s a good story. I wonder what some random person would think of all of this, after we’re all gone?”

——

“What the fuck? Where the fuck am I?” xBcrafted looked around, kind of dizzy from the rift and the sudden explosion of color and sunlight. “Keralison you bastard! This isn���t where my friends are!”

xB slowly turned in a circle as his brain caught up with his current predicament. He was in a small jungle, standing next to a campfire with a few seats dotted about. There were a few wagons off in the distance, and he could hear water lapping somewhere. And he was alone. Very alone.

“Where am I?”

His voice sounded quiet, even to him. His heartbeat damn near in his teeth, xB set off in search of a way out of the unfamiliar land, terrified and pissed off all at the same time, desperate for a way out.

[theminecraftbee]

It's Mumbo who approaches Doc. His suit is askew, and he's loosened his tie, which is generally a very bad sign. Mumbo, for all he's a very poorly put-together person, normally leaves his clothes well put-together unless things have somehow gone very wrong indeed.

"Tell me, Doc," Mumbo says. "After the whole Easter Egg thing that I heard about--"

"I was very normal, comparatively!" Doc protests. "I was very, very normal!"

Mumbo pauses. "You know, I left town, so I can't dispute that."

Doc nods vigorously. "You can't dispute it at all. And, eh, Ren, if you're going to yell about him, he didn't have any eggs. He was briefly False's pet dog, though. I think it, eh, traumatized him."

Mumbo looks faintly dizzy. "Right. That. How did we solve that again?"

"That was all Cleo and Jevin," Doc says. "I know Cub has some of the surviving remnants in his museum. Why do you ask? Oh no, don't tell me you secretly still have one of the babies! What if it's lost and alone?"

"No, no, nothing like that! It's just that you dropped several thousand dragon eggs on Grian's base, is all."

Doc smirks. "A cunning revenge--"

"You covered Grian's base. In eggs," Mumbo says, very slowly, as though Doc might be particularly stupid. Doc stares back.

"Yeah. It's karmic revenge for the chickens," Doc says back, equally slowly.

"Doc I wasn't there but remind me how Grian reacted last time to the eggs," Mumbo says.

Doc thinks about it for a moment.

Doc's eyes widen.

"Mumbo, please tell me Grian is not--"

"The good news is that I think the server would crash if they hatched," Mumbo says mildly. "The bad news is that I'm his neighbor, and I very much want to kill you now."

"You're joking," Doc says, struck suddenly with the vision of what it would be like to live next to a Grian who is attempting to get broody over thousands of dragon eggs at once.

"Die," Mumbo says, and pulls out an end crystal. Doc doesn't even move. He deserves this one.

[slashmagpie]

Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out. 

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls. 

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever. 

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.” 

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep. 

[caramelcoatednightmares]

Just Another Icarus

Joel “Archimedes” is currently walking through the town square of Hels. Normally he doesn’t like to be out at this time when the streets are busy and crowded. He feels like it’s the times where he dies most often. But he really wanted to try this new recipe he saw, and he was just short some eggs. Which is why he is speedwalking rather than walking through the square. He knows exactly where the cart that sells them are and once he gets them he can hurry home just as quickly, no worse for wear and no death to mark off in his journal.

He reaches his hand into his coat pocket and grips the journal for some sort of comfort. Its leather bound and there’s faded brown where he usually rubs his thumb to soothe his anxieties, which he is currently doing. Joel speeds up as he sees market stalls come into view. He’s so close. Then he feels a knife against his side. Well, sort of his side. It’s a bit lower down and he can immediately gauge the height of his attacker. Being as extremely tall as he is, he figures it would be hard or even terrifying to try and kill or mug him. But he quickly learned he wasn’t so lucky. The attacker speaks loud enough for Joel to hear but quiet enough to still be a whisper.

            “Take a right and head into that alley.”

Joel listens, wanting this over quickly. He takes the next right and into the alley. The attacker removes the knife and Joel takes a step back, turning around to see his attacker.

            He looks downwards at them and tries his best to smile. But his lips quiver with nervous. “How can I help you?”

            They scoff and hold the knife up at him. “I don’t need help. I’m mugging you.”

            “Oh.” Joel sighs. He wouldn’t be able to get those eggs now.

            The mugger scowls at the lackluster reaction. “Oh? That’s all you have to say.”

            “Mmm, yes. I think so.” Joel nods.

            The mugger rolls their eyes then sneers, taking a step closer. “Fine. What’s the name now, Beans?”

            Joel puts his hands up defensively as he’s backed further into the alley. “It’s means, actually. But you can call me Archi—”

            “Don’t care. Empty your pockets.”

Joel nods and slowly reaches into his pockets. He pulls out his coin—diamond?—purse and tosses it in the mugger’s direction. They grin, sharp teeth on show.

            Joel suppresses a shiver and clears his throat. “Is that all? If so, I’ll just—”

            The mugger aims their knife at him and Joel freezes. “What else do you have?”

            “That’s all. Promise.” Joel smiles, soft and charming.

            The mugger squints at him. They tilt their head and raise an eyebrow. “Look, Archie. I’d love to let ya go, truly. But there’s just one problem.”

            “Which is…?” Joel’s smile turns more nervous, glancing at the knife then the mugger.

            “Your clothes.”

            “My clothes?” Joel repeats.

            “You’re just askin’ to be shanked walkin’ around Hels like that.”

Joel looks down at himself with a critical gaze. He wears a long coat, maybe the proper term is a trench coat or tail coat? He’s not really sure, he just knows it looks good on him. It’s black with a dark red accent going down the edge. Underneath he wears a faded red vest with muted browns and golds swirling as accents and a white undershirt poking out from under the vest.

            He looks back up at the mugger. “I don’t see the issue. If the outfit is that atrocious, I can just be out of your hair and you’ll never have to see it again.”

Joel once again tries to slip past the mugger and this time it gains him a quick nick of the knife. The blade catches on his coat sleeve and leaves a tear, just barely missing his skin. He raises his hands and backs up again.

            The mugger sighs and twirls their knife between their fingers. “Listen, Archie. If you keep dressin’ like that you won’t survive another hour here. It’s no wonder ya stink of death.”

            Joel clears his throat. “If we’re going to keep talking, I think you should know its Archimedes and not Archie.”

            “Same difference, yeah?”

            Joel opens his mouth the speak again but clothes it when the knife aims at him. He takes another step back and feels his back hit the wall behind him. “Now let’s be reasonable, here. I gave you all I have, there’s really no reason to kill me now is there?”

            The mugger shrugs and steps closer. “Not really, but there’s a lesson to be taught.”

            “That being?”

Joel winces as he feels the knife stab into his side. It digs in and he swears he can see stars as his vision starts to fade in and out.

            The mugger removes the knife with a squelch. “Don’t go dressin’ like that in Hels. Someone’s goin’ to kill ya over it.”

Joel gasps awake in his bed. His side still stings from the harsh removal of the knife, a dull phantom pain. Another name to knock off the list he supposes. Joel closes his eyes and feels another name floating at the edges of his mind. Hypatia. Joel Hypatia. Surely this will go better than before. He still has to collect his belongings at any rate.

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Romantic Shinyduo Ficlet

Pearl can’t help paying Gem a visit while delivering packages.

thank you to @theautistmwitch for the idea!

Gem looked up from her morning cup of tea to a knock at the door. Grumbling at having to get up she made her way to the door, mug in hand.

She opened the door- and there stood Postmaster Pearl in that uniform Gem loved so much. Sue her for thinking women in uniforms were hot, okay?

“Um- wha- what are you doing here?” Gem stuttered, hand going to her hair in an attempt to flatten it. “Special delivery for one GeminiTay!” Pearl chirped. “Sign here, please,” She said, coyly tapping her lips.

Gem’s brain short circuited. “Are- aren’t you supposed to be at w-work?” “I am at work! I’m delivering a special package.” From her postmaster’s bag Pearl brought out a slip of paper and held it out to Gem. The paper, in Pearl’s distinct messy but make it fashion handwriting, read: One kiss to be delivered to GeminiTay.

Gem blinked “Why is it in crayon?” “Because that’s the only writing utensil I could find- I mean I have no idea I didn’t write it.” Gem sighed but couldn’t stop a smile from rising to her lips. “Come here, then.” Gem softly grasped Pearl’s chin, pulling the Postmaster towards her and kissing her gently. Pearl hummed, carding her fingers through Gem’s perpetually messy hair.

“Now back to work,” Gem ordered, tucking a strand of Pearl’s hair behind her hat and pushing her out the door. “Yes ma’am!” Pearl saluted, but stole one more kiss before she left.