#Life series fic

[5typesoftrash]

Tango. Cleo. Etho. Impulse. Gem. Pearl.

He didn’t even see her die. He shot her off the cliff, he heard the thunder, but his mind never made the connection. She was there, then she was gone.

“Oh, there was a zombie back there,” he had said, casual as anything. Unbothered. He didn’t even see her die.

“Pearl, I’m comin’ for ya!” he declares to the empty savanna, looking down into the chasm created by their own mortal hubris, their lust for dominion. “Where’d you go?”

He climbs down into the ravine, looking around for her. The zombie follows. “Where’d you go?”

Gently, softly, Grian’s voice issues from the sky. “She’s dead, Scar,” he breathes, and he sounds so sweet it hurts, deep in Scar’s chest. “You won.”

If he focuses hard enough, he can almost feel Grian’s hand brushing his hair behind his ear.

“Oh,” Scar replies, feeling a little stunned. Without his consent, tears start to trail down his cheeks.

Tango. Cleo. Etho. Impulse. Gem. Pearl.

He didn’t even see her die.

#gtws #goodtimeswithscar #secret life #trafficblr #traffic smp #traffic series #desert duo #scarian #secret life session 9 #secret life finale #life series #life series smp #life series fic #secret life fic #secret life smp #pearlescentmoon

[waveridden]

“Being a ghost is stupid,” Jimmy says petulantly. “You just poked straight through my chest, which I would ordinarily be upset about. But I’ve been dead for four years, so I’m not mad at you about it. I mean, I’m mad, but not at you specifically.”

Or: Tango's ranch is haunted. It's not nearly as big of a problem as he expected it to be. A 27k ghost AU.

#trafficshipping #trafficblr #rancher duo #team rancher #solidaritek #life series fic #can someone for the love of god explain to me like i'm 5 how to tag for this fandom #waveridden.fic #wtwb #this is the thing i've been working on and yes i WILL be rbing it constantly #solidango #mcyt fic

[salemoleander]

Joel is lounging around on Potato Pier, evening darkening to purple as Jimmy and Grian argue about something stupid in the background. He dips a hand in and out of the water elevator, in and out, and again; and after every splash he's seeing the same numbers.

"Time's stopped," Joel says absently. The lulling noise of the background conversation grinds to a halt.

"Sorry, what?" Jimmy asks.

"I said, the blimming-" Joel realizes what he's saying as he says it, snapped from dreamy to alert in a moment. Grian's head whips up.

Jimmy looks down at his own arm. "The time's stopped. The time has stopped? Grian?"

Already reaching for his comm, Grian says with a forcedly casual tone, "No it hasn't."

Then he blanches, eyes flicking over the screen.

"WHAT."

Joel snorts and looks out over the map. No one is noticeably freaking out yet- the only group he can see out and about this late in the day is the Clockers, busy fixing up the cliff face on their side of the No-Man's-Land with Pearl and BigB. He watches as Bdubs falls in the chicken pit for the umpteenth time. Joel snickers.

He looks up, and catches sight of Grian's expression. He stops snickering.

--------------------

"What do you MEAN," Cleo yells, "that the clocks have stopped?" One of their arms is looped firmly around Scar's shoulders, which seems prudent given his tendency to wander off and either explode or kill whoever he bumps into. He still looks slightly singed from earlier, giving an overall impression of a puppy that cannot be left alone with electric cords.

Slumped against a rough stone wall reloading a crossbow, Joel scoffs. "What do you bloody well think it means?"

"HEY," Bdubs exclaims, "Don't talk to-" Aaand he's in the horse pit.

"It's fine Bdubs." Cleo rolls her eyes. "My fault. What I meant to ask is, why are you-" she points to Grian, who squawks, "-telling us about it? Why aren't you just fixing it?"

"Well he can't, can he?" Jimmy pipes up from his seat at the dining table. "Else he would. He's in here with us, though."

Cleo doesn't stop staring at Grian, and boy is Joel glad he's not Grian right now. Both because being himself is obviously the best option always, and because an angry Cleo is a very scary Cleo.

Reluctantly, slowly, Grian nods. "I can't fix it."

No one says anything.

The dripping from the ceiling to the floor makes Joel think someone really ought to fix up the roof. They'll have the time for it, he reckons. Then Joel remembers that the Bad Boys had, in fact, bombed the clocktower not an hour before, and decides now is really not the time to mention it.

Finally: "I really can't. It's not-" Grian sighs. "I set this thing up. It can run just fine on autopilot, pretty much. If I were on the outside as an admin-" he grimaces, "...like I should be, it wouldn't be an issue. But it's like the pilot is locked inside the bathroom while the plane-" Grian stops talking.

"Crashes? While it crashes." Cleo sounds displeased. Joel starts drafting an obituary. Bdubs has clambered up from the horse pit by now and is sitting on the edge of it, nervously messing with a janky old pocket watch.

"I would really prefer not to be stuck in an airplane bathroom forever," Scar says forlornly.

"Oh for goodness' sake," Joel says. "There has to be someone on this server who can fix this. Grian can't be the first idiot who's ever done something this stupid."

"I'll take that bet," Bdubs mutters darkly. Cleo shoots him a look, and he raises both hands and scoots forward to disappear down into the horse pit again.

Cleo pinches the bridge of their nose. "Alright, let's go find out if someone else on this server has already been a bigger idiot than Grian."

(Part 1)

#limited life #24lsmp #limited life fic #life series fic #joel #grian #jimmy #cleo #bdubs #scar #salem tag #i will probably write more bc im having fun thus the part label at the bottom! #will link future updates if they occur #also i know they freeze time between sessions and during break. ignore that #having a lot of fun making myself write different povs! #stopped clock au

[intrawebs]

A list of misc. Hermitcraft/Life Series fics from someone who loves AUs

There is no smut on this list

❤️ = Angst  💜 = Fluff 💛 = Fic I recently added

No Romance and Romance Optional

❤️Hermit Hybrids (In Progress Series) by Flickersprout - "Loosely connected fantasy AU with background dystopian elements. Mostly exploring the Hermits as a magic found family and all their different ways of being nonhuman." Can be read in any order! I'd suggest starting with The Colors of Friendship cause it's the earliest chronologically, ZombieCleo's great, and it's a good introduction to the world.

❤️the sanctity of the mundane (Completed Series) by crabbunch - “Snippets of life on the Double Life server; mundanity can reveal the most interesting things about people, after all.” This series makes me crazy. The only happy pairs are Boat Boys and Ranchers hell yeah

From the Archives (Completed Series) by Sixteenthdays and zeph - “A collection of statements from the archives of the Void Institute.” A Hermitcraft/Life Series Magnus Archives AU with Grian as the Head Archivist and Pearl, Mumbo, Scar, and Impulse as his assistants. Can be read with no knowledge of the Magnus Archives.

Interlude From Another Reality: Peacock's Eye by Sixteenthdays and zeph - “‘My assistant,’ announced Scar Goodtimes, newly-promoted Head Archivist of the Peacock's-Eye Institute, to nobody in particular except maybe the paused audio recording software on his laptop, or perhaps the small pile of tape recorders his predecessor'd left piled on a shelf in the corner, or arguably the little peacock-feather eye logo that dotted the office as haphazardly as it did the entire Institute, ‘is weird.’

(In which Scar is Grian's Archivist, and Grian is Scar's assistant.)” Sort of an AU of the Magnus Archives AU? Haha. But it’s completely divorced from the canon and can definitely be read stand alone.

❤️Shining and Polished (But Never to Plan) by SaltyServal - “A cough makes Grian freeze in his tracks, shakes him to his core. Despite all the signs, of all the things he was expecting to find in this cave, a truly sentient creature was not one of them. That’s what scares him the most.

He turns, grabbing his dagger and pointing it at the newcomer, who simply smiles at him, fangs and all.

‘Why hello there.’

tldr; Grian is an avian desperate to keep his wings, and he'll do whatever it takes to save himself. Even if it means stealing from a dragon.

(It turns out there's more to the dragon then he thought).” A fantasy AU with bird!Grian and dragon!Scar

oh captain (let's make a deal) by birrdie - “No one on these shores knew Scar’s name. Aside from Tango, of course. No one feared the humble, white-sailed ship docked on the south side of the port. This, like the tides, would eventually change with time. They would know his name soon enough. The greatest pirates all rose from humble beginnings like a phoenix from ashes. Scar was no different from them; that much he was sure of. And it would not take him long to prove it.

Or; Scar is a Captain of a humble pirate crew of one. That is, until a discovery on the shore shakes things up a bit.” A heaping helping of greedy pirate Scar and mysterious crewmate Grian, with evil Boat Boys and innocent Solidaritek as a garnish.

❤️starry eyes stare through me by whatcaniwriteinthis - "'You know,' he says. 'Gotta have a good show: high stakes, violence—' He nods at the room, at the 24 children learning how to use weapons, how to start a fire, how to find food that won’t kill them.

'An unlikely allyship,' Scar finishes, smiling a little. Grian smirks back.

–

Grian is this year's male tribute from District 9. Clearly, the odds are already not in his favor. But he has to get home to his sister and to do that he has to play the Games. Give them a show. Stay alive. Remember to step out of line is to threaten Pearl. Don't get too attached to the Career that agrees to be his ally, but not to put a damn shirt on." Angst without a happy ending. Made me cry

❤️Stained Glass Sunlight (In Progress Series) by Cosmic_Retribution - “The Watchers had seemed so nice, is the thing. So… disarmingly hospitable.

When they’d set out for the ruins, they’d gone in search of some magical beasts reportedly plaguing the area, according to the flyer they’d taken. What they’d found instead was an empty city and a group of mages and scholars studying… something. They’d been cagey about what. Certainly not the history of the place— the Watchers arrived long after the fall of Dogwarts, content to live and work inside the city’s corpse with no special reverence for the grave it lay ruined in. They had no stake in its fall, or its future, or the preservation of its once-hallowed legacy— but its bones, certainly, served as protection enough for their studies.

The beasts were the only thing troubling the Watchers’ work, or so they’d said. Strange, then, that Grian and his party never once saw a trace of them.

How long after, until his friends realized Grian was gone? That they weren’t safe?

—

Two decades ago, the city of Dogwarts met its demise. Today, a traveler meets god wearing the mask of a merchant, looking for a miracle.

These two things are not as unconnected as they appear.” Grian and Scar’s version of the lamplight AU(below). Featuring bored god Scar and oblivious paladin Grian.

Lamplight (In Progress Series) by skelew - “Welcome to Lamplight, a DnD/Fantasy Third/Last Life Renchanting AU. Ren is a god stuck in the form of living fire. Martyn is his sole follower. Martyn and Ren help free one another from imprisonment by the Watchers and are now traveling the world on a two-man adventure of fond companionship and occasional arson.” There’s angst but really just in the first fic. The main series has no shipping but skelew has written some treebark one shots that are also in the collection.

❤️dandelion wishing by skelew - “The white lily is known to symbolize purity, innocence. It is also a symbol of mourning, a popular choice to decorate the casket at a funeral. This is due to their beauty, yes, as well as the fact their smell can cover up the scent of a decaying body. Dandelions are best known for their magic, but no dandelion survives a wish.

The King of Dogwarts is not dead.” A Martyn and Ren centric fic about coming back from the dead.

❤️Wooden Mausoleum by skelew - “‘To take the life of one you love an agony Martyn understands far too well. It’s not something he’d wish on anyone—not on his worst enemy, and certainly not on his dearest friends.

Least of all would he wish it on Ren.’

Or, for the Red King, there are fates worse than death. How fortunate he is that his Hand will never let him meet them.” Dogwarts makes it to the end of 3rd Life but Martyn has a betrayal arc.

💜Performance Evaluations by glossyblue - “From The Desk Of His Majesty’s Most Private Of Areas: A True And Accurate Evaluation Of Growth Opportunities For The Knights Of The Square Table, The Loyal Court of Ren the King, As Suggested By The HR Department. (Note to self: when did we acquire an HR department? Ask Bdubs.)” Super cute and funny performance evaluations of the knights from the King Ren Hermitcraft arc.

The H.T.G.Y. Files by glossyblue - "Research scientist Cub didn't intend to make a person. He just came up with the plans. But when a competing team looking to make a supersoldier gets hold of the genome he invented, Cub is pulled in to stop them screwing up—and whatever he expected to find, it wasn't someone like Scar." This is part of a series called Lab Escape but the other fic has a ship that's not in this list so I can't put it in. But I really recommend the whole series!

💜The Government Institute for Ghost Supervision (G.I.G.S.) by glossyblue - “HIGHLY SENSITIVE: G.I.G.S CLASSIFIED. Audio logs for a team of supernatural agents investigating reports of a ghost at a local high school.GRIAN: Yeah, Skizz, why did you let Scar set something on fire? Pretty irresponsible.

SKIZZ: [noise of incoherent outrage] You try stopping him, buddy.” Goofy GIGS story

fixed and dilated by iamsolarflare - “Anything waterdwelling knows from bait.

---

Or: xBCrafted deals with the people around him, and a secret he's been keeping for one hell of a long time. Not the ‘old enemies hunting him down’ type, no - this should be fine, as long as nobody pries. It's the way you should deal with secrets like this, really, just don't let people know. No questions, no answers.

Hypno never got that memo, apparently.” An xB and Hypno fic where neither are human and neither wants to talk about it. Even if you don’t watch them I recommend it.

on the getaway mile by Odaigahara - “‘You want me to do what?’ the civilian asked disbelievingly, and Scar’s body language shifted to that of an impatient trainer, one whose fuse was running short. It was a precursor to bad things, like being tased or forced onto a treadmill for hours; Mumbo flinched even knowing it was an act, and the civilian cut off with a squeak, so Mumbo knew he felt the same way.

Or possibly that was the gun. Scar having a gun seemed more likely as an explanation, now that Mumbo thought of it.

Stealing the car would be better, but they had no idea where they were going, and neither of them was familiar with road laws. What if they hit a person while driving? What if there was some sort of kill switch in the car that the owner could flip to blow it up with them inside? Anti-villain tech had to be wild, from what the Foundation had on hand– and they were villains now for sure. Not just for defying the Foundation, but for this. Heroes didn’t take the actions he and Scar were taking.” Heroes Villains Scar and Mumbo take civilian Grian hostage for a road trip! It's not as bad as it sounds

💛counterclock by scarabies - “When it’s over, Impulse finds him in the throne room.

(or, Bdubs and Impulse chat after a rebellion ends. Can be read as either platonic or romantic.)”

Scarian

💛Through the Sky-Blue Cracks (In Progress Series) by Amethystfairy1 - “This is a compilation of all the pieces that take place within my Over-City/Under-City AU, which is also a Hot Guy/Cute Guy Superhero AU, though that's not the only thing that'll be going on!”

❤️coliseum by artanogon - "Grian is on a mission: kill the Red King of the Third Precinct. Unfortunately, when he travels to the capital where the king resides, he lands in a spot of trouble with a local merchant when he accidentally destroys the merchant’s shop. After he enters into a contract to help pay off the damages, he discovers that there might be another side to Scar under the silver-tongued salesman— and that he’s not the only one who wants the Red King dead." This one made me cry. Happy ending but it gets worse before it gets better.

Picture Perfect, Trapped in Eternity by CloudySkyFlight - “Grian's an architecture major in college, minoring in art history, and when the largest, and supposedly most haunted, collection of royal portraits in the world is displayed in a museum only a few hours away from his dorm, he gets up early to go see it.

Scar's been dead for centuries, living in a royal portrait he cursed to hold his memories and soul, waiting for the moment his best friend would come back to him. Several centuries later, he wakes up to see a brunette that has the looks and soul of his friend, and Scar knows that he cannot let Grian leave without him.” Starts out with Scar sort of kidnapping Grian? But the mood quickly lifts from there

and everything is you by eastwards - “‘Oh my gosh. I’ve got paint on your face.’

Grian moved to wipe the paint off, but Scar shook his head, ‘No the other side, here let me-’

He held Grian’s head steady with one hand, the other carefully brushing across his jaw. With an affirming noise, Scar nodded and bid Grian farewell, as he wandered back to his station in the studio. Grian held his hand up to where he had touched him, feeling his head begin to warm. How troublesome.

–

artist au w/ scarian wooo”

somewhere between the surface and the seabed by LovesickPrince - "It's a classic tale of love: Grian, a mer from the depths of the sea, makes a deal with a sea witch to exchange his voice for a pair of legs and go visit the human whose life he had saved. Only in this case, Grian is more interested in the sea witch than the human.

(If only someone had bothered to tell Scar, the sea witch in question, about this divergence)."

💜Dead Heat by glossyblue - “Jimmy's having a meltdown, Ren and Martyn are flirting outrageously, Tango gets cruelly betrayed and Grian and Scar are being unrepentantly weird about each other in every shot. It's the nation's favourite no-holds-barred elimination game. It is, of course, the Great British Bake Off.”

A Certain Je Ne Sais What by glossyblue - “Literally any one of Grian’s friends would be a better soulmate than Scar, and Grian is going to prove this scientifically.

Grian’s already felt it, a pinprick in his thumb. He’s familiar—he’s so painfully, unforgettably familiar—with the way Scar sees something and is already reaching out to touch it before he’s asked questions like 'what is this' and 'is it bad news' and 'is it going to hurt me, Scar, and by extension the unwilling bystander my physical sensations are now linked to'. Scar just immediately reaches out.” Grian tries to convince himself that anyone else would be a better soulmate than Scar while proving that Scar is the best soulmate for him.

❤️wait the worst is yet to come by glossyblue - “‘Grian is smirking at him. ‘I know, Grian, I know,’ Scar says. ‘Trade by name and trade by nature–okay, Scar by name but still trade by nature–we are going to be in business, opening soon, special rates for favorite customers of course–’

‘But have you done it yet,’ says Grian.

‘No?’ Scar says. ‘We only just started.’

Grian bounces on the balls of his feet, delighted. ‘Okay. Okay, okay, so. You need to know how it works, then, don’t you? Kiss me.’” Scar centric Last Life AU where you transfer lives by making out. There’s a sex scene but it’s not smut. Angst without a happy ending.

heart under your sleeve by Anonymous - “Scar was easy to love, as mortifying as that was to think. Grian didn’t think he was in love with the artist, it was far too soon for that, but he knew it would be easy for anyone to love him.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if Scar had met his soulmate, then shook his head to dispel the thought before it could fully form.

“Look, we can’t bring in a live panda, but if you want, we can try and connect with a zoo in the area so that they can set up a live stream of their panda exhibits,” Grian compromised and Scar brightened again. He ignored the sweeping feeling of relief in his chest as he opened his laptop, typing in a quick search for nearby panda exhibits. “Maybe we can even get one of their handlers in to give a talk about pandas.”

“Perfect!” Scar agreed, putting on a bright grin. Grian smiled to himself in turn.

—

Soulmate AU: You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate. Grian is a curator for an art museum. Scar is an eccentric artist who is just as attractive as he is infuriating to work with. Everything goes sideways when Grian realizes they're soulmates.”

💜If you like it… by GoodTimesWithScar - “‘Hello,’ slurs Scar, ‘you wouldn’t happen to know where a man such as myself… would find… an eligible bachelor to spend a little bit of time with?’

Grian blinks. ‘Oh, you are plastered.’

or, the ‘you got so drunk you asked your husband if he was single’ trope, but with added mumbo being 100% done with this nonsense.”

💜Well It’s Not Quite Narnia, But- by Raichett - “It’s just past seven in the morning when Grian opens his built-in wardrobe door to find a man dressed in something close to a green and gold matador outfit standing inside.

---

Or: Grian is not giving up this dirt-cheap rent flat for anything, not even the strange (if fun) goings on around the place and the elven king coming in through his closet.”

💛my ever after / is holding you by LovesickPrince - “Grian has been many things.

A servant of a respected noble family. A survivor, with bruises on his skin and hidden wings tied down to his back. A rebel, sneaking away for a night of wonder in the heart of the kingdom - and a curiosity, gawked at by all as the King himself swept him into his arms and spent hours by his side.

When Scar spent days tracking Grian down and helping him escape the cruel grasp of the Watchers, Grian thought his life couldn’t surprise him anymore. Pledging his life to serve Scar was all he could do to thank his King.

Of course, being the personal servant of the King comes with its' own risks - and now Grian could add ‘hostage’ to his list of titles.

Or; someone decides kidnapping King Scar’s beloved servant was a good idea. It really wasn’t.”

i live in a hologram with you by remrose - “‘Anyone in there would be lucky to be graced with your company.’ Scar told him. His face was calm but at his sides, his hands tightened and knuckles went white.

‘Stop trying to sweet talk me, I've already caught you fleeing.’ Grian stalked another pace forward, eyes alight with mischief and excitement. ‘Where are you going?’” Scar’s bad end in the treesekai AU (which you need to have read to understand).

Treebark

💜love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books (In Progress Series) by GoodTimesWithScar - “treebark theatre kids au, with ren as the male lead and martyn as the very distracted spotlight operator!”

💛Through the Sky-Blue Cracks (In Progress Series) by Amethystfairy1 - “This is a compilation of all the pieces that take place within my Over-City/Under-City AU, which is also a Hot Guy/Cute Guy Superhero AU, though that's not the only thing that'll be going on!” The first treebark fic is quite a ways down (It’s called Dagger and Rose), but I believe in yalls ability to figure out the setting through context clues.

❤️Sgt. Pepper’s Broken Hearts Club Band by harpydora - “The sign next to the door just reads, ‘Support Group,’ which frankly doesn't leave a great impression for the gathering inside. Martyn double-checks the Facebook event on his phone, but he's unfortunately certain he's in the right place: a support group for people whose soulmates are no longer with them.” The double life broken hearts club in a modern AU.

wild things can't get comfortable by donnerstag - "Ren and Martyn steal what small moments of comfort they can get.

Several loosely-connected scenes from Dogwarts as Ren struggles with his feelings towards the Hand of the King."

Scribbling the lines (from you to me) by Siri_Spy - “Martyn and Cleo are soulmates… but what exactly does that mean for them? And with Martyn starting to fall for the over-the-top president of his RPG club, and Cleo starting to realize that they might be a little late to the ‘disgustingly in love’ phase… something needs to change.

What will that something be? Well don’t look at me, I’m the one who wrote it. Look at yourself, and ask yourself: Why don’t I know?

Exactly. That’s what I’ve been wondering. Anyway, what are you still doing here? Go read!” A really sweet modern AU about Cleo and Martyn.

not the ghost by csillagvizsgalo - “Martyn tags along with his friends on a ghost hunting trip (he has seen people who had weirder hobbies anyways) for fun in an old run-down castle museum that has definitely not been kept properly. It's all fun and games, and he definitely doesn't believe in the supernatural, so it's not scary at all, until he starts noticing things lying around in areas that nobody has been to in ages, that remind him of memories of events that he never experienced, hundreds of years ago. The voices aren't helping. Well, the one Voice.

The Not Ghost of the Castle (he is a very dedicated cosplayer, thank you very much) takes a liking, and possibly some recognition, to Martyn, and while he spends the night terrorising Martyn's friends, the two of them build an unlikely bond and friendship.

The Red King just wants to rest, and so does Martyn. But not everything is as easy as it first seems.” Ren pulls out all the stops to try and intimidate Martyn but Martyn is a little rude to him and completely ruins it.

Wild Life: A Conservation Podcast by donnerstag - “Ren and Martyn, hosts of a popular little nature and conservation podcast, go camping together as part of a season finale special; discussions of the future, for both the show and themselves, ensue. Featuring: a campfire! innuendos! and even a little bit of kissy, perhaps?”

💜Dead Heat by glossyblue - “Jimmy's having a meltdown, Ren and Martyn are flirting outrageously, Tango gets cruelly betrayed and Grian and Scar are being unrepentantly weird about each other in every shot. It's the nation's favourite no-holds-barred elimination game. It is, of course, the Great British Bake Off.”

A Romance Route For The Doomed Villain?!? by skelew - “These days, Martyn doesn’t really have a lot going on. This is where the dating sim comes in.

Granted, if Martyn knew he was going to die so soon, he maybe would have tried a little harder at, like, holding down a job. Or maybe not. It's not like he has a lot of time to think about it.

Or, Treebark Isekai Romance Parody Which I Spent Far Too Much Time On.”

❤️I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before by GoodTimesWithScar - “In which Martyn fails to get the guy - but he doesn't let that stop him for long.” Set in the treesekai AU (the fic above), which you need to read to understand.

💜I should’ve known it would be you - water/woods by theorionsound - “Martyn sort of expected to fall in love with Ren eventually.

—

On their bi-annual hiking trip, Ren and Martyn get lost in thought. Mainly about eachother.”

❤️To Sit in Hell With You by dirtybinary - "Ren pulled Martyn close, breathing in the smell of soot and cinders still clinging to his clothes. 'You never kept secrets from me, back at Dogwarts.'

'Sure.' There was something knife-bright in Martyn’s eyes. 'And I’m a good little Southlander now.'

Martyn's playing every side in the death game. He's a loose cannon, he's a wild card, he's a selfish bastard who's going to betray everyone in the end, even Ren. Probably. Most likely. Any minute now."

Solidaritek

💜Red Bandit AU (In Progress Series) by scribblingdragon - “A Empires Season 2 AU with Jimmy as the Sheriff of Tumble Town, and Tango as a local bandit that is slowly, forcefully, being domesticated. Shenanigans ensue from there.”

💛❤️💜Hels To Pay AU (In Progress Series) by aquaquadrant and lunarcrown - “Angsty Tango-centric Hermitcraft/Double Life SMP AU”

❤️The Highwayman by EnvelopedByOblivion - “Fate walks many paths - but for each person, it only wears one face. Sheriff Jimmy Solidarity’s fate is a handsome red-eyed highwayman who saves Jimmy from a group of bandits. Despite being on opposite sides of the law, something keeps bringing them together, tangible as gravity and inevitable as death.

Which will get to them first? What will win out – a growing relationship between them, or their obligations to the life they’ve chosen for themselves?”

💜Let Me Show You Everything I Know by MassiveWaffle - "Jimmy Solidarity is an ordinary guy. He goes to his grad school classes during the day, works at the campus library in the evenings, and neglects his friendships a little too much. Then, engineering student Tango enters the library for some help, and Jimmy finds his friend group growing, and his life inexplicably changed."

A Nestcommunication by YacintheMorning - “Tango just wants to make the ranch a home for both him and his avian soulmate. Unfortunately, he knows almost nothing about avians. But the least he can do is try, right?” In which Tango is accidentally way too forward.

💜A Lesson in Listening by YacintheMorning - "Grian's brother is moving to town and staying with him while he house hunts. While introducing him to his friend, however, Jimmy and Tango seem to make quite a connection. Determined not to suffer through the pining, Grian and Impulse attempt to play matchmaker."

💜He loves that horse by ThatTallQueerBassist - “Tango uses his horse training knowledge to get Oreo back in shape after all the drama of being stolen back and forth.

Unfortunately, this panicked Jimmy at first.

He quickly calms down once he finds Tango training Oreo just outside the walls of their ranch.

They chat, and everything is well in the world again.”

SmallEtho

There’s, like, no AUs for these two!

❤️The Best Soulmate by BlocksRuinedMe - “‘But everyone else didn’t know that - it was possible even Bdubs didn’t know that - and yet he carried on like that, all the time. All about Joel’s soulmate. Bdubs didn’t respect Joel, and fuck that.

Fuck that.

Joel had been fantasizing about killing Bdubs for weeks.’

—

The Boat Boys have made it to the end of Double Life, standing with Impulse and Bdubs, watching the divorce quartet crumble. Joel has a plan to make Etho win Double Life, whether Etho likes it or not.” Joel being an unreliable narrator because rage clouds his thinking is really something I wish there was more of. You definitely want to read the tags before diving into this one btw.

Holy Father, judge my sins by giddyfenix - "Joel and Etho as the seven deadly sins. After all, what were they if not corrupted?" The lust chapter has a sexual scene, obvs, so skip that if you so wish.

A list of facts and problems by giddyfenix - “Joel had never realized it was possible to feel someone in your bones until Etho came along.”

Amores anacrónicos by giddyfenix - “Don’t be further than 10 blocks from Etho for 10 minutes. One attempt only.”

You held his hands, it felt like flying by Prudent_seer - “Etho doesn't believe in soulmates. Doesn't believe in fate, destiny or an invisible little string tying two people together indefinitely. It was ridiculous, maddening even to think of two people who were made for one another; made perfect for each other by the "universe's almighty will". With that being said, he had someone in mind that was pretty damn close. So when Grian threw them in a world where these soulbounds did in fact exist in a tangible form, where health and pain was shared with someone else, he sought out the person whom he thought was his match. Only to literally fall into the life of his actual soulbound.

It was Joel. And with that Etho cursed the universe for its twisted sense of humour.

//

Creative rewrite of double life through the eyes of Etho, who learns to love his soulmate.” There’s sex but it’s not smut, you know what I mean?

when everything burns, they burn together by TheYesterdayShow - “No one for Joel because he's always been a loner. For as long as he can remember he's been on his own in these games—in the first one he had his cottage on the hill (so long ago that he can barely remember what it looked like, he can only remember it burning and the flames licking up at him and melting his skin and the smell of his hair and he has to put it out—), and in the games since, he's been alone. Alliances that last little more than a week, here and there, and somehow he always ends up at Grian's side at the end of things, but he's never actually teamed up with anyone else.

He doesn't want a soulmate.”

etho has said parkour tag! by panch_owo - “Neither Cyan or Aqua make it to finals, which means the rest of the event is unimportant!

And instead of dwelling on their non-team, they go on another round of tag because it's them.” No smut but a lot of innuendo

More Powerful Than Fear Itself Is The Will To Win by smoothlikebutter - "After a devastating crash ends Etho’s racing career with the McLaren Formula One team, he’s forced to take significant time off to recover. While his fans are eager to see him again soon, what they don’t know is that Etho’s crash was worse than reported; he had to re-learn how to walk and talk before he could even think about racing again. But the desire to get back in a racing car is a strong motivation, so Etho pushes himself to his limits… However, his team couldn’t wait forever. His replacement is talented and the endless competition of motorsports is ruthless. Now Etho has to prove to his old team— and to the whole world— that they were too quick to forget about him. And what better place than the 24 Hours of Le Mans?

ConCorp is eager to snap up a big name like Etho. They’re entering under the Garage 56 innovative category this year, and their CEOs aren’t interested in much more than publicity so the pressure is low. But they’ve also signed Joel, a ruthless pro endurance racer who isn’t about to settle for anything less than the top step of the podium and a champagne shower at the end of the race. And honestly? That’s exactly the kind of teammate that Etho needs." Had me dancing around my room with excitement. Etho's character arc is amazing.

We're a Couple of Freaks by smoothlikebutter - "Joel is a weapon. Etho is also a weapon. They're professional monster hunters, and they've got a job to do tonight: clear out a ton of undead from an abandoned old mansion. Simple, right? This could only possibly go wonderfully well.” Epic Smalletho Souleater AU

❤️Blurring The Lines by FountainPenguin - “Dad always goes overboard with presents. They're never something traditional that a kid would ask for, either. It's always something he had left over in the back of his truck after a project or something stupid he bought after sipping a few too many potions and regretted sober.

One year for Scar's birthday, when he and his cousin Grian were playing in the sandbox out back, Dad and his friends arrived unannounced with four oak saplings. Dad didn't grab his arm or anything (Dad basically never touched him except on rare occasion to brush sand from his hair before loading him in the car; he always said it would make Mom mad), but he used words and praise and empty promises to drag Scar away from his and Grian's game to plant them right away.

Maybe Dad gave so many gifts because he was never around in summer. As early as April, he spent every weekend out fishing with his cousin on his houseboat...

AKA - That Scar-centric standalone piece about the Clocker family in contemporary suburbia.”

And goodness you’re bleeding (What a wonderful feeling) by knightinshiningarmor - “When the relationship burns, Etho feels an intense burst of emotions that leads to a revelation.”

#masterlist #fic rec #scarian #treebark #solidango #solidaritek #smalletho #hermitcraft fanfic #trafficshipping #traffic life fanfic #life series fic #can u tell i watched double life first? lol

[amaranthinecanicular]

THE KING'S CANARY TAKES FLIGHT!

The king's canary has abandoned his duty. Jimmy would argue he just quit a bad job. Either way there's a bounty on his head and a curse around his neck, and with Grian and Joel's voices ringing in his ears, Jimmy's dreams of freedom seem further out of reach by the day. That is until he saves a blaze hybrid who, for some reason, is hellbent on returning the favor. Alone, Jimmy is pathetic. Honestly, even with Tango, Jimmy still thinks they're kind of pathetic. But with a little bit of luck they just might make it.

[My gift for the @mcytblrholidayexchange, for @thesleepycat! I'm so sorry it's so late, but I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you had a stellar holiday!]

[alternatively read on ao3.]

:

THE KING’S CANARY TAKES FLIGHT!

It’s a catchy headline. Jimmy glares down at the trodden newspapers and admits at least this: it is a catchy headline.

One week and three towns out from the capital and the gossip still refuses to die. Jimmy blames the excess of perfectly reproduced ink on paper; if redstone wizardry hadn’t automated the process, he’s certain the printing press would never have taken off, and he’d have been able to slip through the cracks of the kingdom long before news could spread. 

He skirts the edge of the street and keeps moving. The phantom twinge of a boot grinding into his toes is easy to ignore. Less easy to ignore: the voices of the townsfolk, tittering over his crime. He hears his name but more often he hears his title. Canary. Canary. Canary. 

“Poor birdie. Can’t be easy, being the king’s canary,” says one woman. Jimmy doesn’t know if she’s being sarcastic or sincere; he can’t risk looking her in the face.

“Pah! Canary. Yellow-bellied sapsucker, more like,” says a man. “All he ever had to do was stand there and not die and get paid for standing there and not dying. Couldn’t even do that.” He’s starting to sound like Joel. “Got no idea what a real, honest day’s work looks like. Spoiled and ungrateful, you ask me. If I were him, with gifts like that, I’d be up in the castle no questions asked. Bitty canary’s nothing but a coward—ow!”

The man hops up and down on one foot, glaring at the oblivious butcher who’d stomped on it. 

Jimmy draws his hood low. 

:

Joel thought he was cursed by a witch. Grian thought he was born with it. The Red King said it was a gift from the gods, divine proof that he was meant to rule and no harm was to come to him.

Jimmy doesn’t know anything about a witch, or the gods, or the circumstances in which he was born, but he thinks Joel was closest to the mark. It’s a curse. It's always been a curse.

:

A dilemma: Jimmy needs food. 

His wings are numb with cold and his feet feel like he’s leaving behind the skin with every step, but food is the pressing issue. It’s taken two weeks and five towns of varying industry, but he’s finally run through the stock he took from the castle. He’s got plenty of money for more, but money isn’t really the problem. They just put out a reward for him. Martyn’s doing, if he had to guess. If anyone was considering letting him go before, they certainly aren’t now. 

Redstone has taken hold here, turned the town metropolitan, and he can hear as well as smell all the local dishes that the vendors are hawking: caramelized redstone sweets, charred and spiced meats, cups of blazepowder soup. They smell so good. He keeps to the outskirts of the market square, watching from the corner of his eye as steam wafts up every time the vendor ladles out chunky red broth. Jimmy feels the hiss of a burn on his hand; a second later the vendor’s eye twitches at a splash of hot soup. She looks up, and Jimmy ducks away before their eyes can meet.

There are no good options. If he pays for a meal, he’s almost guaranteed to be recognized and exposed. If he tries to steal something, he’s almost guaranteed to be caught and exposed. (He has no talent for thieving, as Grian and Joel proved every time they dared Jimmy to nick something, back when money was tight.) If he does nothing, his traitorous stomach will complain loud enough to garner attention, and then he’ll be exposed. Or he’ll starve. Which is also bad.

If he could, he’d have hiked through the forest until he got to the plains biome. Away from the towns and the crowds, free to hunt for his own meals. But every time he drifted from the path Joel and Grian’s voices rang in his head, reminding him that he’s never been good at camping, that mobs seem drawn to him like they knew he was weak, that he could barely hold his own with them around and on his own he was next to useless. 

He’s almost at the end of the square. What then? Keep going and hope he doesn’t collapse on the road to the next town? Even the thought of food leaves him lightheaded, he’d never make it. Wheel back around and pass through the market a second time, and risk being recognized? His pace slows to a crawl. Joel and Grian were right—he can’t survive on his own. He doesn’t know why he tried. He was warm and well-fed in the castle, and if he wasn’t appreciated then at least he was secure, and he only had to die occasionally.

Among all the spiced fruits and roasting meats, there is a small cart selling apples. The man working the cart is distracted (reading a paper with Jimmy’s reward plastered across the front, because what else would he be doing), only halfheartedly calling out prices to the bustling crowd. Jimmy is several yards away. Then only a handful. And then he's within arm’s reach, and no one has looked his way once. Surely no one will miss an apple? The owner of the cart shouts, and Jimmy flinchs, but he's only making a sale to a man on the other side of the cart. They fall into animated conversation. Jimmy stands scant feet away, unnoticed.

He could do it. He could do it now. That would show Grian and Joel. If Jimmy could steal an apple, what else could he do? What couldn’t he do? Of course he could survive on his own! Oh, they’d feel so terrible for thinking otherwise. They’d fawn and shower him with praise, and they’d tell him how capable he was, how strong and clever, how they were wrong to doubt him. They’d grovel, probably. They’d tell him they were sorry that he had gone through what he’d gone through, and how they appreciated that it had been for them, and that he didn’t need to do it any longer because he had tons, oodles of other skills and gifts that made him worth the burden of keeping him. He’d show them. 

If he ever saw them again, he’d show them.

The nearest apple is shiny and perfectly red. Jimmy reaches out.

Pain ravages him. It explodes hot along his side, blunt force that shatters his arm and leg and pulverizes his insides, even as it doesn't. He staggers. He chokes. Every breath feels like a betrayal, his body piercing itself over and over. The ghost of broken ribs. He chokes. He groans. 

It doesn’t stop hurting. It’s getting worse. Fear and pain leave him nauseous. Where will it come from? Where where where—

There. A redstone automobile down the street, blurred by his tears. It’s moving too fast. The wheel is wobbling wildly, the redstone in the undercarriage is sparking. It’s coming straight at him. No, it’s—it’s coming straight at the apple cart. 

The crowd is parting around him, now, he thinks. He’s getting looks—recognition or alarm, he doesn’t know. He tries to say run, but all that limps from his mouth is a moan. The man speaking to the vendor turns and sees him. Jimmy thinks he sees him. They have seconds.

“Run,” he thinks he says. Gasps, sobs, something.

The world jags and falls sideways. A man is above him. The man from the apple cart, and the vendor looking perturbed over his shoulder. One of them is speaking, the words bleeding and incomprehensible. Jimmy retains none of it. The pain is sun-bright. It razes away everything else.

Scant feet away, a vehicle screeches, and an automobile, out of control, smashes into the apple cart. There’s shouting, screaming. The vendor is gaping at the wreckage that is his livelihood. The man he was speaking to gapes as well, first at the splintered remains of the automobile and the cart, then at the mashed apples, then at Jimmy. If Jimmy could see him, he would know, then, the difference between alarm and recognition.

Jimmy doesn’t see him. Jimmy is dead. 

:

Jimmy doesn’t wake up right away. First, he stops being dead. Then he’s sleeping. He’s aware when this happens, in the loosest sense of the word—there’s no dreaming, no out of body experience, nothing in particular to tether him to the world at all. But the body knows when it’s dead and when it’s not, and so Jimmy knows. He lays quietly, thoughtless, floating, starry, until his body decides to stop doing those things. Then he wakes up.

The first thing he notes is that he’s still starving. At least he’s no longer cold.

The ceiling is a bland beige, splotched with dull scorch marks. Not back in the castle, then. That’s good. He blinks. He blinks again. His eyes are crusty and dry. So is his mouth. It’s very, very dry in here, actually, and very hot. Practically boiling, but in an arid way. Now that he’s awake, his armpits and the small of his back start to prickle with sweat. He has to wrestle his arms out from under a heavy quilt to rub the last of the sleep and death from his face, and his palms scrape against chapped lips. Still, he’ll always take too hot over too cold.

“Hey, you’re awake,” says a voice. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a blaze hybrid standing in the middle of a small, round room. He’s stoking a little fireplace with—with his bare hands, by the looks of it. Wow. Jimmy’s never seen that before. 

The hybrid turns to him fully. He’s shorter than Jimmy, wiry and sharp all over. He has wild blond hair, swept back from his face, the ends of it wavering into candle-like flickers of flame. His eyes are red all the way through. A long, slender tail flicks behind him, tipped in a merry ball of orange flame.

“I’m okay,” Jimmy says neutrally. 

“That’s good. You, uh, looked like you were in a lot of pain before.”

Jimmy does his best not to react to that. Grian always chides him for wearing his heart on his sleeve. “Okay. I’m feeling much better now.”

“You look it,” says the blaze hybrid. Jimmy chances a glance at his expression, then away. Does he know? Impossible to tell—mostly he just looks relieved. “Do you remember what happened?”

He does, for the most part, though he doesn’t remember this man. But the faces were all blurring together at the end. “Kind of.”

The blaze hybrid scrapes a small wooden chair out from a small wooden table and drags it to Jimmy’s bedside. Jimmy does his best not to stiffen up too noticeably. The man throws himself into the chair, his limbs poking in different directions like an awkward bundle of sticks.

“We were in the market. You looked like you were in pain,” he says. “A lot of pain. You called me and the apple vendor over to you, and then a carriage took out the cart behind us. Then you—” He pauses. “Passed out. I brought you here.”

Passed out. Jimmy doesn’t correct him. Instead he focuses on the “here,” and how very not a doctor’s office “here” is. Unless this man is the town doctor, and this is just the very cluttered and unsanitary place he practices medicine. Or maybe he’s a trained healer so he saw no need for a doctor? This could be innocent. It could mean nothing. 

Stupid, says a voice in his head that sounds like Joel. He knows. 

Jimmy does not panic. He is so so good at not panicking. “Well. Thank you. For that. Um. And—and where is here, exactly?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. Welcome to my home!” The blaze hybrid throws out an arm, gesturing to the small room: the tiny fireplace, the tiny table, the tiny dresser, the few utilitarian appliances and the many tinkering knick knacks scattered all over that Jimmy can’t make heads or tails of. “Temporary home. Place I’ve been renting for a few months, I guess. Welcome either way.”

“Thank you,” Jimmy says again. Still in town, it sounds like. Okay. Okay. He can work with this. What would Joel and Grian do? Fight their way out. Not really an option for Jimmy; he’s always frail after revival, unlikely to win a fight or a foot race. But he’ll figure it out. And the blaze hybrid might not know who he is. Probably. Definitely!

The blaze hybrid says, “Sorry if this is forward, but. You’re the king’s canary, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like that name,” Jimmy says immediately, like an idiot. Death always muddles his brain, blunts his filter. “I—I actually have to go, right now, immediately. Places to see, people to go, you understand how it is, thank you again for the help—”

He lurches for the side of the bed, where the floor, predictably, rises to meet him. Less predictably, the blaze hybrid catches him around the shoulders.

“Hey, hey! Careful, man, slow down.” He pushes Jimmy back to the bed. Jimmy wishes he could say it was forceful, but Jimmy's pretty sure he's just as weak as a foal, and terrified out of his mind. He must do a poor job of hiding it, because the man makes a funny sound in the back of his throat. “Oh, I’m not—I’m not going to, like, turn you in or anything. No one else recognized you, and I didn’t tell them. Don’t worry about that.”

Jimmy will absolutely worry about that, thank you very much. “Um. Okay.”

The blaze hybrid holds up his hands. “I mean it. You’re safe here. The only reason I asked is because I was wondering if it was your, uh, power that happened? Back at the apple cart? I think that’s what happened, I just wanted to be sure.”

This feels like a trap. Like the king’s men are just outside the door, waiting for confirmation before they burst in and drag him back, where Ren will likely soliloquize about loyalty and betrayal and then Martyn will lob off his head. But if that were the case, shouldn’t they have already done the bursting and the dragging? Jimmy all but confessed his identity two seconds ago. He sees no way out of it now.

He nods, just once. 

“I thought so.” The blaze hybrid's eyes are deeply red. Fire dances inside them. Jimmy can’t tell if it’s reflection from the fire or something inner and innate. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Jimmy swallows. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously. Thank you.” He reaches out and squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder. He’s smiling. “So: don’t call you canary. Got it. What should I call you?”

“Jimmy,” Jimmy says, after he fails to think of a proper alias that isn’t Joel or Grian or King Ren. “Jimmy Solidarity.”

“Jimmy Solidarity. I’m Tango, of the Tek variety. You can just call me Tango.”

Jimmy nods. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

Tango says, “You hungry?”

Is he trying to stall Jimmy long enough for the king’s men to get here? Most likely. Jimmy’s stomach decides he doesn’t care. “Oh my gosh yes please I’m starved.”

:

Three bowls of blaze powder soup later (better than what was being sold in the street, if only because it is now in Jimmy’s belly), Jimmy finally feels like more of a human again. 

“Thank you,” he sighs, reclining back on the pillows of Tango's bed. The bowl is still warm in his hands. He’s loath to let go of it. “That was amazing. I’m, uh. Sorry if I took too much.”

Tango is still on his first serving. He laughs, and it doesn’t sound mean-spirited at all. “Dude, don’t worry about it! Nothing a chef likes more than someone enjoying his food.”

Jimmy swirls his spoon through the creamy broth at the bottom of the bowl. “Is that what you are? A chef?”

“Nah, not really. I just like cooking. Sometimes you gotta have a hobby that’s just for you, not for money, you know?”

“Sure.” It’s not something Jimmy has ever thought about, but he likes the idea. “Um, I should. I should probably go.”

“Okay,” Tango says easily. “You want some tea before you head out?”

Jimmy might actually cry. “Yespleaseohmygosh.”

:

The tea is even better than the soup, spiced and fragrant, smoky in the aftertaste. Somehow, against all odds, the company is even better.

Rather than being a wildly successful chef, Tango works with a nomadic troupe of demolitionists. Not a job Jimmy’s ever heard of before, but it sounds cool when Tango describes it. According to Tango and his expansive hand gestures, the redstone wizardry boom has resulted in cities and infrastructure rapidly expanding, deconstructing, rebuilding. In the chaos—his eyes brighten with the word—there’s opportunity for innovation, discovery, entrepreneurs. 

“And blowing stuff up in creative ways,” he adds. “So that’s always fun. I just figured out how to make the buildings implode instead of explode—reduces debris and collateral damage, and just looks awesome.”

“That’s amazing,” Jimmy says sincerely, and Tango’s smile glows, literally. It is suddenly imperative that Jimmy break eye contact.

“Another cup?” Tango asks.

Jimmy wants to, very badly. He’s enjoying talking to Tango. He’s enjoying the warmth and the tea and the conversation where both parties see each other as people, instead of a tool or a burden. “I should probably get going.”

“Oh,” Tango says, then laughs, a little bashful. “Yeah, of course. Look at me, chatting your ear off! Let’s get you up.”

He takes Jimmy’s cup and then his arm in a firm, claw-tipped grip. His hand is bony and pleasantly hot. With his support Jimmy finds his feet, and manages three whole steps before his knees buckle.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Tango catches him, and leads him back to the edge of the bed. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine,” Jimmy says. He feels a little lightheaded, a little breathless, more than a little humiliated. “This just happens when I—it just happens sometimes. I’m used to it.”

“Do you want to rest up a little longer?”

“I really should get going. You’ve done enough for me as it is.”

Tango nods slowly. “How far are you headed?”

“Far.”

“Right.” 

A pause. Jimmy clasps his hands between his knees and wills strength into his body. Usually it takes about three hours after revival to fully recover, not that Jimmy will tell Tango that. It’s not like he hasn’t had to get up and go minutes after death before. Ren was the target of back to back assassination attempts once, and Jimmy made do then. He can feel Tango reappraising him, the paleness of his face, his worn clothes and unwashed hair. He struggles not to shrink on himself.

This was a nice reprieve—a lovely surprise after a terrible death. He needs to leave before he ruins it. Oversteps Tango’s bounds, annoys him, reveals himself as something to be used or pitied.

Tango hovers, then sits beside him. 

“It’s just that…you still look kinda iffy, dude. Is there anyone I could bring you to? Anyone you trust to help you get…wherever you’re going?”

“I do,” Jimmy says quickly, eager not to be thought of as pathetically alone. “I mean, I did. I mean—I don’t, anymore. They wouldn’t have been safe, is all, with the whole on the run thing, and anyway, they wouldn’t have—that is, I…” He trails off, and says lamely, “It’s complicated.” 

Tango’s voice softens. “Okay. I get that.”

They sit together. Tango offers him another cup of tea; Jimmy takes it. He blows across the surface, watches the flecks of leaves bob on rippling waves. 

After a minute, Tango claps his hands on his knees and stands up. 

“Well hey, if you’re going to go you should at least go in some good shoes.”

He crosses the small apartment to the door, where Jimmy’s tattered shoes are propped up against the frame. Instead he grabs the sturdy pair of work boots beside them. 

Jimmy blanches. “I can’t take your shoes!” 

“Sure you can.” Tango sizes up Jimmy’s foot, decides it’s close enough, and pushes the boots into his arms. “They’re my extra pair, so you’re not putting me out. They might be a little snug, but I think snug is better than what you were working with.”

“That’s not the point! You’ve done too much for me. I can’t take your food and your tea and your shoes, I just can’t.”

Tango gives him an amused look. “Okay, but you saved my life, remember? I value that a little more than an extra pair of shoes. Take ’em. I insist.”

Jimmy does take them, but only because Tango also tries to give him new clothes, cloak, and packed-up food, which he turns down. This time when Tango helps him up, though Jimmy teeters, he keeps his feet.

Outside it’s still winter. In the warmth of Tango’s apartment, Jimmy had almost forgotten. Since his death night has fallen, and the streets are empty and bitterly cold. 

“You’re sure I can’t convince you to rest a little longer?” Tango asks.

Jimmy draws his cloak tight around his shoulders. “Long way to go, I’m afraid. Thank you for everything.”

Jimmy looks back at him. It’s the first time he’s looked into Tango’s face in a while: he’s pointy all over, angular, bordering on gaunt. He’s a candle in the dark. His smile is tinged with concern.

“No need to thank me,” he says. “I hope you get where you’re going, Jimmy. Take care.”

He offers his hand. Jimmy shakes it. If either of them linger, Jimmy tells himself it’s only because Tango is so warm. 

Jimmy walks away. With every step further he remembers that he’s a fugitive, and that he needs to go quickly, quietly, and carefully. On to the next town, and the next, and the next, until he’s run out of towns entirely and has made it to where the sky is blue and the horizon opens into forever. He looks back once, and sees Tango still standing there, waving. He looks back again, but now the door has closed, and Jimmy doesn’t know which window was Tango’s. The gifted boots squeeze gently at his toes.

His hands twitch with splinters as he reenters the market square, where the stalls have been folded up for the night and the street is empty. 

Only it’s not empty. The owner of the apple cart is despairing over the broken remains, picking through sharp shards of wood. He hisses and shakes out his hands. Jimmy grimaces. He tugs his hood lower and turns on his heel.

“Hey,” the man calls behind him. “Hey you!”

Jimmy walks faster.

“You! You’re the one who—stop, blast it! You owe me a new cart!”

“I really don’t, actually,” says Jimmy, dropping his voice two octaves. A hand grabs his shoulder. Jimmy’s wings protest, pushing back hard under the cloak. The hand is shaken off. So is his hood.

“It’s you,” the man says.

“No it isn’t,” says Jimmy.

“It is! You’re the canary! That reward could buy me a whole fleet of new carts.” He looks around wildly. 

“Please don’t,” says Jimmy, but the man is already hollering. 

“I’ve got him! I’ve got the canary, guards! Someone!”

Jimmy turns to run but the man seizes the back of his cloak. His hand closes on the arch of a wing, and Jimmy yelps.

“Hey! Let go of him!”

There’s the distinct, winding pain of a body shouldering hard into Jimmy's ribs. Then Tango is tackling the man to the ground.

Jimmy goes sprawling. He struggles to his knees through the phantom dings and scratches of two men wrestling on cobblestone. Behind him, Tango is fuming, “What the hell, man! He saved your life, what are you doing?” 

All along the street, lights are coming on. Doors are opening. Heads poking out. Eyes going wide. The town is folding in on him. Jimmy can’t breathe.

And Tango is above him, once again.

“Come on!”

He offers his hand. Jimmy takes it.

They run.

:

Grian and Joel would have come with him. 

If he’d asked. If he’d told them. Of course they would have. They would have protected him, taken care of him. They would have sighed and scoffed the entire time. They would have resented him, and made sure he knew exactly how much of an inconvenience this was, and didn’t he know he was upending all their lives, and why couldn’t Jimmy just do his job? He was always causing problems, and never considering the effect it had on others. 

The moment Jimmy revived on the cold marble of the throne room and realized he had to leave was the same moment he realized he couldn’t bring Joel and Grian with him. He couldn’t even tell them. They would have insisted on joining, whether Jimmy wanted them to or not. Whether they wanted to or not. They cared for him; they would risk implication and conspiracy for him. And they would never let him forget it.

He’ll never see them again. That hurts too much to think about, so he doesn’t. 

:

“I’ve ruined your life.” 

“You haven’t ruined my life, come on.”

“I have, I absolutely have. Your home—”

“My temporary home.”

“Your temporary home, your job, all your things. Poof! All gone, Tango! Because you helped me!” 

Tango is starfished flat on his back. Jimmy is making the ground’s acquaintance with his face. They fled down the darker road out of town, figuring they were less likely to be followed, and after an hour of hard running, they both pancaked in the dirt. Jimmy has too many cramps to name, and a doubled echo of Tango’s cramps on top of that. The stars above feel judgmental. Jimmy is glad to stare at hard-packed earth instead.

“Oh my gosh, you’re my accomplice now,” he moans. “They’re going to be looking for you too. Tango, your life is over, I’ve ruined it.”

A warm hand pats at Jimmy’s back with infinite, undeserved patience. “You didn’t ruin anything, buddy. I mean it! This is for the better, if you think about it.”

“For the better. Ha.” Jimmy spits out a little bit of dirt. “How?”

“Like you said, that place was temporary. My team will pick up my stuff, so I haven’t lost any of it. Well, except for what Bdubs will scavenge. That’s a given.” Tango waves a hand like being forced to abandon his entire life in the dead of night is hand-wavable. “And the good thing about working with your buds is that they’ll always have a job for you if you need it, so no harm there. Honestly, demolition was fun, but I’ve been thinking of trying something new for a while now.” 

“You’re a wanted man now. How are you going to go back? You’ll be arrested on sight.”

“Pshaw. One guy saw me help you.”

“The whole town saw you help me!”

“Hey, you’re the one they’re after, not me. By the time I get back, they’ll have completely forgotten I exist. Tango Tek who?”

Jimmy rolls his head to one side to give Tango a flat look. Tango is already looking back at him. He looks amused. That makes no sense.

“Okay, honesty time? I wanted to offer to go with you before,” Tango says. “Help you get wherever you’re going. But you seemed pretty jumpy, and I thought it would freak you out. Offer’s still on the table, though. I like traveling new places, seeing new things. Makes for good machination inspiration. And two is safer than one, right?”

“You don’t know me,” Jimmy says. His voice is weak. 

“I don’t know how many times I can say this, but you literally saved my life. That makes you a pretty cool guy in my book.” He looks Jimmy dead in the eye, and says simply, “You seem like you could use some help. I’d like to help.”

Jimmy believes him. In the back of his mind he can hear Joel and Grian taunting: just like Timmy to trust the first stranger he meets. Can’t ever hack it alone, can you, Tim? Probably he’s about to run off with some maniac bent on selling his curse to the highest bidder. Or an opportunist who intends to hold this favor over his head for the rest of his life. Would be just like him to get into hot water like that. Sure, it would be nice if there were someone out there who really wanted to help for the sake of helping, and it would be nice if doing so didn’t lead to resentment or blackmail or a direct ticket back to the castle. But that person is a fantasy. That person doesn’t exist.

But Jimmy believes him.

He sniffles. Some dust goes up his nose. “We don’t even have a torch.”

“Okay, you got me there,” Tango concedes. “We’ll need to get some supplies in the next town. Oh—here, this is yours.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Jimmy’s coin purse.

“It’s why I followed you. You left it in my apartment.”

Jimmy just gapes, so Tango plops the purse on his back. 

“Take your time,” he says, generously.

Jimmy does take his time. After a few long seconds of fish-mouthing, he says, “I hope you took some. I was going to bribe you into not giving me up.”

Tango snickers. “Darn. Missed my chance. Guess you’ll just have to buy our first meal instead.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. Even if Tango is being genuine, Jimmy is still a wanted man. Bringing him along could only put him in danger. Grian and Joel would be judging him so, so hard if they knew.

But Grian and Joel aren’t here.

“Deal,” Jimmy says.

Tango smiles. Jimmy dares to smile back.

Then Jimmy yelps at the ghost of sharp fangs sinking into his neck. “Ow ow ow—Tango, spider! Spider spider spider!”

“What spider where now—whoa!”

Jimmy yanks him up just as a spider the size of his torso skitters out of the forest, barely missing a lunge for Tango’s face. 

The spider chases them a full second hour until torches intersperse the road again. If this had happened yesterday—or even a few hours ago—Jimmy is sure he’d have burst into tears. 

But Tango makes this funny yelp-laugh sound when he screams, and when they finally reach safety, he cheers. Jimmy, despite himself, cheers too.

:

The next town is close enough to reach by afternoon the next day. They walk through the night and arrive exhausted, unwashed, hungry, and in better spirits than Jimmy expected. By a lot, actually. Turns out sharing misery halves it instead of doubling. Who knew?

Jimmy tries to keep a low profile while Tango goes to retrieve food and supplies. Waiting in an alley with nothing but his thoughts (and Grian and Joel’s imaginary advice), feeling equal parts conspicuous and insignificant, he half-expects Tango to return with guards. Maybe more than half. Even if it hadn’t all been a ruse to gain his trust and turn on him when most profitable, Jimmy finds it hard to believe Tango won’t come to regret his decision when he realizes what deadweight Jimmy is.

But all Tango returns with is two loaves of bread stuffed with roasted peppers and Jimmy’s exact change. He even managed to secure lodging. The innkeeper refused to give them a two-person room when she hadn’t vetted the second person, so Tango conceded to a single. Then he helps Jimmy climb through the window in the back. There’s a lot of flailing and scrambling and frantically beating wings, but once they’re through, Jimmy lays flat on the floor and stares up at the ceiling in wonder.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Jimmy says breathlessly. “You’re a genius.”

“Aw shucks.” The flame on Tango’s tail flares and puffs. “Thanks, man!”

They crowd onto the tiny bed and Jimmy is out as soon as his head hits the pillow. He wonders, as he falls asleep, if maybe Tango cut the innkeeper in, and he’ll wake to guards waiting to arrest him and Martyn laughing at him for thinking he got away, and Tango and the innkeeper splitting the reward money…

He wakes twelve hours later to Tango fiddling with some new redstone contraption. He sees Jimmy’s awake and says, “Morning, buddy!” Then he hands him a bowl of oats with fresh winter fruit, and a hot cup of spiced tea. 

:

In the next town, Tango sells his little redstone doohickey, and uses the money to pay for their meals. It’s only fair, he says. And when Jimmy protests that bankrolling the trip is the least he can do for all the help, Tango just laughs.

“Back with my crew, we split everything evenly,” he says. “Theoretically, anyway, when we weren’t enabling Etho’s spending habit and Bdubs wasn’t trying to weasel his way out of it. Regardless! We should be supporting each other equally. That’s what partners do, right?”

Partners. Jimmy doesn’t trust himself not to say something stupid, so he just nods. Partners. That sounds nice.

:

On the road, they talk about their people.

Skizz, Impulse, Bdubs, Etho—Tango’s demolition crew, a cast of colorful characters. “You’d like them. They’re good guys. Skizz especially, he’s my bestie. Nicest guy in the overworld.”

Tango has loads of stories, a broad range from heartwarming moments with Skizz to absurd adventures with Bdubs to wild tales of Etho that make Jimmy question whether he’s a real person or not.

“He soloed a wither once,” Tango declares proudly.

“No way.”

“He did.”

“No way! You’re lying.”

“Jimmy,” Tango gasps, scandalized. “Would I lie to you?”

Jimmy’s gut instinct, for some reason, is no. “No one can solo a wither.”

“Etho can. Though if you asked Bdubs, he’d tell you he soloed it. Now that’s a lie.”

Jimmy hums. Night is falling rapidly but the sky clings to a deep, dusty orange. Joel always says that means snow.

“Grian and Joel might be able to take down a wither together,” he says. “Especially if I was there to help them. Definitely not alone, though.”

“You talk about Grian and Joel a lot,” Tango says, a gentle invitation. 

“Oh, sure. I spent most of my life with those jerks. Don't really remember anything before I met Grian. I think I lived by the sea?” He daydreams sometimes about sparkling blue that stretches on forever. He’s not sure if it’s a memory or a dream. “But then I got saddled with Joel and Grian, and we kept each other alive. Or I kept them alive with my curse, not that they’d be caught dead saying thank you, no sir.” 

He chuckles, and thinks to stop there. But Tango is watching him and smiling. Jimmy snaps his eyes back to the sky. 

“I sort of grew out of my wings as I got older, can’t really fly with them, you know? But I could fly when I was a kid, and there I was, zooming through the trees, when bam! I get slapped in the face by some invisible brick wall, and that makes me bam! smack right into a tree. A second later, and bam! Grian smashes into a tree right next to me. Turns out he was flying behind me, saw me crash, and that made him crash, and his crash is what made me crash in the first place.” 

Tango laughs. “Feedback loop of pain, huh? That’s how you met?”

“Yep. Then we found Joel two years later, and that was that. Locked in with two bullies. We kept each other alive. Or I kept them alive with my curse, not that they’d be caught dead saying thank you, no sir! They’re my—” 

He almost says brothers. Thank goodness he didn’t. Even the thought of Grian and Joel’s ridicule makes his cheeks burn with shame. 

“They’re my roommates, kind of. Or they were, before I started working for Ren and living in the castle. They’re why I stuck around so long, actually.”

The way their jaws had dropped, the first time he gave them their cut. He’d had the thought: I can finally repay you. I can finally be of use.

“They were the first ones who called me a canary,” Jimmy says, brightening. “It was just a joke. An annoying one that I hated, but it was ours, so I didn’t really mind that much. Martyn heard it once, and he told Ren, and, well.” He stares hard at the orange sky. “Kind of got overdone, after that.”

“Yeah,” Tango says. When Jimmy glances over, his smile is a little dim. “I bet it would.”

He seems glum. Jimmy doesn't like that. "You know, Joel has a curse too. Turns into a big monster at night. Needs true love's kiss to break it, the whole thing."

"Yeah?" Tango perks up. "What kind of monster?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Jimmy says breezily.

Tango's grinning again. Thank goodness. "Try me."

:

Money was always tight, when it was just the three of them. Jimmy minded, of course, though not as much as Joel and Grian did. Privately he liked that it was them against the world. The worst part, to him, were the nights they had to split a thin serving of broth and Grian and Joel were in foul enough moods to needle Jimmy for not pulling his weight.

Still, they made ends meet. And there at the end, they were even doing well. Jimmy can confidently say that Grian’s the best architect in the kingdom, and his reputation was only ever growing. He was commissioned by some nobles in the capital. This is the one, boys, this one changes everything, Grian would say, over and over, and Joel would grumble, it blummin’ better be, how much you keep banging on about it, but he’d catch Grian and Jimmy in headlocks and knuckle at their hair, so he was excited too.

They got to the capital. It was bigger and busier than any place Jimmy had ever been, built into the shadow of the king’s castle. While he worked, Joel took up odd jobs throughout the city. He was hired to clear out a nest of phantoms that was terrorizing the outer districts. He let Jimmy tag along.

Jimmy felt the death coming up on him. Claws raking his back, tearing his throat. He swung around, looking for Joel, and saw a king’s guard instead. He was bleeding and exhausted. Jimmy tackled him out of reach of a phantom’s talons; somewhere in the distance Joel screamed Timmy!; before the pain had a chance to fade, Jimmy shuddered. Jimmy died.

Jimmy un-died in the castle. Joel and Grian were nowhere to be seen. Instead there was the king’s guard, who was actually the king’s hand, who was actually Martyn.

Your whole life’s about to turn around, mate, Martyn said. You’re welcome.

:

“Why didn’t you turn me in?” 

He manages to rein the question back three more days, until it pops free on the road. It’s started to snow, just a handful of delicate flakes that Tango tries to catch in his mouth. He’s looking at Jimmy, frozen, with big eyes and a pointed tongue poking out of his mouth.

The question is still as ill-advised as it would have been on day one. He’s sure Grian would think so. Why would you bother putting the idea in his head, he would say, why push it? Grian is smart about things like this, keeps his cards close to the vest. Joel is more forward, likes to know things upfront, doesn’t mind being confrontational about it. But Joel wins fights that Jimmy doesn’t. He’d say it’s plain stupid.

Tango doesn’t say it’s stupid. He says, “Yeah, that’s fair. I’d want to know too.”

It makes Jimmy feel almost reasonable for asking. Tango wipes his mouth and kicks thoughtfully at the road. 

He says, “I’ve got no loyalty to the king. Nothing against the guy, I’ve heard some good things, but I’m netherborn, right? And I barely feel any national pride there, so not much obligation here.” 

“There’s a reward,” Jimmy points out. Imaginary Joel and Grian groan in frustration.

Tango’s eyes narrow skeptically. “Sure, but you didn’t commit a crime, did you? Unless I read that article wrong. Seems to me you just left your job. You should get to quit like anyone else. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

He says it so simply. Just as simply as Jimmy thought it was.

“I mean,” Jimmy says, “I did steal some bread.”

Tango barks a laugh. “Well, now I have to turn you in. Moral obligation.”

Jimmy nods solemnly. “It’s only right. Clap me in irons, throw away the key.”

Tango keeps laughing. His nose scrunches with it. Jimmy feels a little silly for being so proud. He’s made loads of people laugh before, thank you very much. It’s just that he’s usually the butt of the joke instead of the one making it.

He likes making Tango laugh. It’s a nice laugh.

It doesn’t snow much longer, but they spend the time counting who can catch more snowflakes on their tongue. Jimmy wins by one.

:

“Here,” Jimmy pushes one horn into Tango’s hands. He’s so excited. 

Tango turns it over, as confused as intrigued. “Is this an animal horn? Where did you get this?”

“Just now, when I went to the bathroom! There was a goat out there, it tried to kill me—”

“What—”

“Honestly it shouldn’t even be here, Grian says they only live in the mountains. But it missed, and it broke its horns off against a tree trunk.”

“Wow.” Tango admires the color and the shine, the smooth break and the grooves in the dark keratin. “It’s so cool.”

“It gets cooler.” Jimmy lifts his horn to his lips. A sweet note carries, and a flock of birds take to the sky. Tango’s jaw is on the floor. 

“How’d you do that?”

“Grian knew how, and he showed me and Joel,” he says. “I thought if we were separated, or lost, or see a threat or something, we could blow this to find each other.”

Tango’s eyes are shining. “That’s an awesome idea. Can you show me?”

:

Not every town can be reached in one hard day’s walk. Sometimes they have to camp out on the road, laying out bedrolls and building fires to keep winter at bay. Tonight it’s cold enough that Tango gives Jimmy his extra bedding; he’s netherborn, he says, so he doesn’t need as much to keep warm. They keep the fire high and scoot the bedrolls close, talking too late into the night. And Jimmy just…tells him.

“You’re going to build a ranch?” Tango asks. 

He sounds surprised. He probably looks surprised, not that Jimmy would know, since he’s having trouble looking at him.

The ranch isn’t something he likes to talk about. Every time he says it out loud, it sounds sillier, so he tries to keep it tucked safe and close behind his heart. He mentioned it to Joel and Grian once, though he’s sure they don’t remember it. Why would they? They’d been so dismissive at the time. There aren’t enough riches in the world that could convince me to sell you a farm, let alone teach you how to run it, Grian had sneered. Joel pointed out that even if there were, no one in their right mind would stick around once they realized what a slow study Jimmy was. Jimmy felt small, and he never mentioned it again.

With Tango, he told him only as much as he needed to. They were heading out of the forest biome and into the plains, where the land unfurled into smooth, rolling prairies and burst with sunflowers. The logic was sound enough on the surface: Ren’s borders ended with the biome, and with one step past Jimmy would be free and clear. Tango was just glad to visit somewhere he’d never been before. He didn’t ask further questions, and Jimmy didn’t offer further answers.

But they’ve been traveling together for weeks, now. Tango has never made Jimmy feel small. 

“I’m not planning on building one, exactly,” Jimmy mumbles. He busies his hands by sitting up and thrusting his hands at the fire. A talent of Tango’s: he can build a beautiful fire in three minutes flat. “Grian’s a way better builder than I am. I’m just hoping to buy it off of someone. Something small, if the owner was already hoping to retire or something. And then I’ll pay them extra to stay on a little while and teach me how to run things.”

Tango sits up too. “That’s an awesome idea.”

Jimmy’s head snaps up. “Really?”

“Yeah, man! Way better to admit when you need help than to crash and burn just because you tried to tough it out alone. Keeping the old rancher on until you’ve got the hang of it is smart.”

Tango looks genuinely impressed. He looks admiring. Jimmy’s wings start to flutter. 

“Do you know anything about running a ranch?” Tango asks. He doesn’t sound accusing like Joel, or mocking like Grian. Just curious.

“Not really,” Jimmy admits. “But I’m pretty good with animals, and I don’t mind hard work. It might take me a while to get the hang of something, but I’ll stick with it until I do.”

“That’s great,” Tango says earnestly. “I think it’s way more useful to be able to stick to something than to be good at it right away.”

One of Joel and Grian’s favorite pastimes was poking fun of Jimmy until he shouted and flustered, and then laughing at how splotchy he got. They said he looked like he had a rash. He hopes he’s not as pink as he feels now. “Thanks,” he says again.

Tango leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes bright. “What kind of animals will you have?”

Jimmy hums. “Chickens, for sure. Lots of cows. A couple goats, I think. Maybe a warden?”

Tango’s laugh is surprised and delighted. “A warden?”

“Yeah. I was thinking like—if I could train it, then maybe it could use it’s sonic thing to round up the herd. Is that weird?”

“No, I love it! Wardens are so cool, and we know so little about them. Plus they’re kind of cute, in a scary monster way.”

Jimmy beams. “Exactly! Tango, I could not possibly agree more.”

“You’d have to bring that one up from the underdark yourself,” Tango says thoughtfully. He lights up like a firefly. “I could help you! I bet I could think of a way to get it safely to the surface.”

“You definitely could, that’s not even a question. You’re brilliant.”

Tango’s eyes go ruby round. Jimmy’s mouth opens and shuts. Should he take it back? He should take it back. 

But Tango just smiles, broad and lopsided. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

“You’re—” Jimmy’s voice cracks. God damn it. “You’re welcome, Tango.”

They stare at each other. Tango says, “You have frost in your eyelashes.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Huh?”

“You have—” Tango clears his throat. “You know, because it’s so cold. It doesn’t happen to me because I run too hot, so I just, uh. I noticed.”

“Oh,” says Jimmy.

Tango nods, pink at the ears. He turns quickly to the fire, stoking it with a few deliberate pokes of his fingers, then says a little too loud, “I’d love to make some mazes for your animals. The warden especially. Obstacle course type things, you know, for enrichment.”

They're just daydreaming. Jimmy knows that. But he wants it. It’s a little too revealing, how much he wants it. 

He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin on them. “Yeah? Like what?”

:

The good news is that they’re getting closer to the border, if Jimmy’s map is to be believed. The bad news is that they misjudge the distance to the next town and run out of food a full three days before they get there. Tango slaps together ingenius redstone traps to catch hares that tide them over, but that doesn’t stop them from ordering two full stews each when they finally come upon a tavern, nor does it stop them from hunkering down right outside the building and inhaling the stew in companionable, ravenous silence. 

Deep into the second bowl, Tango giggles, “Oh no, we’re pathetic.”

Jimmy thinks that yeah, they kind of are. He thinks, maybe, he doesn’t mind being pathetic with Tango.

:

Working for the king wasn’t so bad. It really wasn’t. 

On his good days Ren was generous, kind, goofy and forgiving. He cared about his subjects’ problems and pushed for the industrialization that improved quality of life throughout the kingdom. He treated Jimmy like a subject instead of an equal, but like a subject he was respectful of. Most of the time. Half the time.

The issue was that, the other half the time, he stopped being the good King Ren and started being the Red King. Vicious and uncompromising. A nose for weakness and for bloodshed. Jimmy suspects it’s a curse, though it’s clear he’s not eager to break it. He makes lots of enemies, the Red King does. Jimmy knows that better than anyone. Once he died impaled on a traitorous guard’s spear. When he came to, curled around a wound that wasn’t there, Martyn was beheading the would-be assassin three feet away, the spear was cracked in half at the foot of the throne, and the Red King was howling with laughter. 

Never look him in the eye, when he’s like that. Never expect an apology. Never expect to be free.

But reiterate how generous he was. Happy to pay for Jimmy’s services, and provide him with safety, food, comfort. On Jimmy’s first day he said, The crown appreciates your service, lad. You have been touched by divinity to prove our birthright by providence, and for this we shall be gracious. How might we show our appreciation? No price is too high for the king.

Jimmy is still surprised he managed to stop quaking long enough to request a stipend for his family. (Family sounded more sympathetic than roommates, he figured. He was glad Joel and Grian weren’t around to hear.) 

Martyn looked annoyed by the request, imposing at the king’s right side, and Jimmy tried to clarify, something modest, please, but Ren didn’t hesitate. The first payment was enough to set the three of them up for life, if they were scrupulous. The second payment ensured they could live comfortably without having to work another day ever again. The third payment was excess, and it never stopped. Grian and Joel were overjoyed. 

Tango is frowning. It’s a strange look on his narrow face. Jimmy has rarely seen him without a smile.

“I guess that’s generous,” he says, slowly.

“It was,” Jimmy insists. He fingers the leather pouch weighed down by his earnings. More than enough to get him where he’s going and then some. The Red King may be waiting to kill him for abandoning his post, but Jimmy can’t deny that the only reason he has any chance at all is because of his kindness.

“Right. Right.” Tango scrubs a hand through his hair—it sends sparks flying off the ends. Jimmy watches them swirl with the snow, and then he watches Tango’s mouth purse as he makes funny humming and scoffing sounds. Jimmy looks back at the sparks again with renewed focus.

“It’s just,” Tango blurts, “You didn’t really have a choice, right? I guess it was nice that he paid you, but you weren’t allowed to say no to the job offer, because it wasn’t really an offer. And obviously you weren’t allowed to leave.”

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. “I guess. What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t think you should be defending him, is all. He forced you to hurt for him. He didn’t give you a choice. You shouldn’t have to be grateful.” 

His eyes are fierce. Striking, hot like live coals. The sharp angles of him look harsh in a way that Jimmy’s never seen before. He doesn’t know what to say. 

The indignance goes out of Tango’s shoulders. His tail curls. “Sorry. Not my place.”

Jimmy thinks of agreeing with him. Instead he says, “Don’t be. That’s nice of you to say. Thanks.”

Tango smiles, but it doesn’t have the spark it usually does. They walk for a few more hours. Tango’s silence is uncharacteristic, and it makes Jimmy antsy. He feels like he’s done something wrong. He doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Eventually they decide to take a break before the next leg. Not for long, if they want to sleep in beds tonight, but it’s good to get off their feet for a little while. Jimmy nibbles at some jerky and sips at his waterskin. The only downside to the break is how the winter reasserts itself. He very carefully does not wince at the cold water that needles down his throat.

“Here,” says Tango. 

He holds out his hand for the waterskin. Jimmy gives it to him, though he knows he has his own. Tango clasps it firmly between both hands, and after a moment, hands it back. Steam puffs cheerily from the top. The next sip Jimmy takes is hot enough to make him shiver. 

“Thank you,” he sighs. He takes another scalding gulp and shuts his eyes to focus on the warmth as it flushes through his chest and belly. “You’re amazing, Tango.”

Tango says, “You know, I worked in a coal mine.” 

It catches Jimmy off guard. “You did?”

“Yeah, for about a year. They hired me as an engineer, to make things safer and more efficient. Not an easy balance, but a fun challenge.” Tango licks his lips, then says, “I actually worked with canaries. Designed an apparatus that resuscitated them when they passed out.”

“You did?” Jimmy says again. Broken record, Joel would say. Jimmy can’t be bothered to care. His chest is winding tight.

“Yeah.” There’s something off about Tango’s face, his voice. He looks a little earnest. He looks sad. “The owners of the mines weren’t too interested, but the miners themselves, they took as many as I could make. We all loved the little guys. Didn’t want to see them get hurt.”

“Oh,” Jimmy says. “That’s really cool.”

It’s a silly thing to cry over, so he doesn’t. He does indulge in a moment of bravery and reach out to hold Tango’s hand in his. Tango just runs his thumb over Jimmy’s knuckles, over and over. He doesn’t let go, even when they make it to town and a room and a bed.  

When Jimmy wakes the next morning, Tango is still holding his hand.

:

“Tango!”

Tango jumps up with a start, sending the wood for their fire pit scattering. “What! What’s up? Are we running?”

“No no no—” Jimmy skids to a stop in front of him, wings flaring for balance. He’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “That caravan we just passed. There was an old woman in the last cart, did you see her?”

Tango, gathering the sticks back up again, gives him a quizzical look. “Yeah?”

“Right, well, she had a thorn in her foot, I could feel it, and I figured she wouldn’t recognize me because she could barely see. So we got to talking, and I took the thorn out—bunions the size of mountains, man, I’m telling you—and look! Look what she gave me!”

He sweeps his hands out from behind his back. The green glass bottles slosh and clink together. Tango’s jaw drops.

“Ohmygosh, is that—is that wine? Jimmy! That’s wine! You’re amazing!”

Jimmy laughs, triumphant. “I know! I’m amazing!”

They jump up and down for a while. 

“Okay okay okay, we should be smart about this,” Tango says. He stops jumping but keeps flapping his hands. “If we’re careful, I bet we could make these last the rest of the trip.”

Jimmy nods rapidly. He’s already removed the stopper on the first bottle. “Right. Just a couple sips a night, to warm us up.”

He takes a swig, then hands the bottle to Tango. “Right! Just a night cap. We’ll play it smart.”

:

“Can you?” Jimmy asks, deep into the second bottle of wine.

Tango has been giggling for the past hour, this funny consonant sound like an ignition clicking. The more they drank the bigger he built the fire pit, until the flames roared higher than they are tall, but Tango is happy, so Jimmy is happy. “Absolutely! Can I what?” 

“Tango, Tango. Can you tango?”

Tango’s face is flushed. The pink clashes with the red of his eyes and the amber of the fire. Jimmy thinks it’s lovely. “Can I what?”

“Don’t laugh, this is an important question!” Jimmy is giggling too now. “I’ve wanted to ask you since we met. Do you actually know how to tango?”

“Jimmy.” Tango lifts his chin, expression sloppily stern. “What kind of question is that? Of course I know how to tango.”

Tango does not, in fact, know how to tango. They dance anyway, spinning and dipping and swinging each other in circles. They make flagrant and frankly ugly use of their horns. Tango nearly throws Jimmy into the fire by accident and then fishes him out at the last second. In return, Jimmy tries to lead Tango in a waltz he barely learned at the castle. They laugh so hard they stomp on each other’s feet.

They dance and dance and dance until they spin out of the safety of the firelight and get attacked by a skeleton. Then they stumble back to the fire and dance some more.

:

THE KING’S CANARY AND HIS COAL MINE?

“Is this kind of racist?” Jimmy asks. “It feels kind of racist. They’re calling you a whole coal mine.”

Jimmy and Tango squint together at the newspaper that nearly got them caught. Tango’s involvement has finally been noticed. His attempt to get them lodging for the night was met with guards and a frantic escape into the forest, where they crouched beneath a rotted old log until their legs fell asleep and their pursuers moved on. Then Tango pulled out the flier he’d grabbed in his haste.

He pokes at a short paragraph detailing his life. Well. His work history, mostly. “I think maybe it’s a reference to the fact that I used to work in a coal mine. I’m surprised they knew that.”

“Still feels kinda racist,” Jimmy says, then sighs. “I’m sorry, Tango. I knew you’d get caught up in my nonsense eventually, and it’s finally happened.”

Tango snorts. “I think I’ve been caught up in your nonsense for a while now, partner. This is like recognition for all my hard work! It’s kinda cool being on a wanted poster, huh? None of the other guys have bounties on their heads, not even Bdubs. I can’t wait to see their faces.” He prods Jimmy with a pointy elbow. “Guess we really are partners in crime now, huh?” 

Jimmy knows he should feel guilty. But Tango is smirking at him, like they’re sharing a secret, and Jimmy banks the warmth of it in his chest like like something to be hoarded and adored. “Guess so.”

Tango’s name in the papers means they have to avoid towns and main roads. Meaning, in turn, that the safest option is to just keep to the forest.

This is fine in the daylight. Exciting, even! Jimmy always marvels at how Tango keeps their energy up. Cutting through the forest is more direct than the roads, anyway. It’s a bit of a struggle, but they’re making good time.

Then night falls, and suddenly it’s mobs mobs mobs, and Jimmy is shrieking and fighting with creepers and zombies and spiders while Tango is scrambling to find a clearing and build a fire big enough to ward them off. Somehow, they manage, after many scrapes and bruises, but winter is only ever deepening. The cold reaches into Jimmy’s bones. All of his joints ache, and even with the fire beside them and all of Tango’s extra bedding he shakes so hard he can’t sleep. He tries to keep his teeth chattering to a minimum.

“Jimmy,” Tango whispers from the next bedroll. Jimmy cracks his eyes open. From one side Tango is lit up in gold, but from the other the moon bleaches all his warm hues blue. “Jim?”

Jimmy does not let himself stutter. “Yeah, Tango?”

“You’re still shivering.”

“Um. Yeah. I guess I am. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

Jimmy falters. “You already gave me all your blankets. I—I keep putting you out.”

“You’re not putting me out. Don’t think that.” 

His hand brushes Jimmy’s cheek. Jimmy sees it coming and still he jumps at the first brush of warm thin fingers.

“You’re freezing,” Tango says, brow screwing into a knot. He bites at his lips, his eyes wide and worried. Moonlight glints off the points of his teeth. “Okay, so—I run hot. Blaze hybrid and all. If you’re up for it, I think it would help a lot if—if I get in there with you? Insulation and body heat and stuff.”

Oh, Jimmy won’t freeze to death at all. His face is on fire. “You don’t have to, Tango.”

“I want to,” Tango blurts, a few sparks flaring off the ends of his hair. Then he subsides, fidgety and shy. “If you want to, I mean.”

“I want to,” Jimmy says. “That could—that might be nice. Thanks, Tango.”

Tango’s shoulders sag in relief. His smile is toothy and painfully awkward. “Okay. Cool. I’ll just, uh—wriggle on in then. Incoming.” 

Jimmy snorts. Tension, miraculously, dissipates. Tango does wriggle in, and when he’s done wriggling, he tucks the blankets under him to insulate the heat. The difference is instant, cocooning Jimmy in warmth so profound it practically tranquilizes him, eyelids suddenly heavier than bricks. He knows he should be embarrassed. Gratitude and affection drowns it out.

“Is that better?” Tango asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Okay, good.”

His arm rests gingerly across Jimmy’s shoulders. Already half asleep, Jimmy nudges into the narrow cage of his body. His sternum is hard and Jimmy’s nose thaws against it. "Thanks, Tango." 

Tango’s arm relaxes. The world smells of spiced tea. "Always, Jimmy."

Jimmy sleeps better that night than all the many nights he’s spent on the road thus far. Better than any night in the castle. Better than he has in a long time.

:

They’re less than a day’s travel from the border when the snowstorm hits. While the sun is up Tango and Jimmy trudge and trudge and lob snowballs at each other, and when the sun is down they’re forced to cobble together some sort of shelter. Eventually Tango rigs up something droopy and wet that does nothing to keep out the cold but at least will keep them from being buried alive. 

“Oh my god, it’s awful,” Tango laughs.

“Shut up, it’s amazing,” Jimmy says, because it is.

They drink the very last of the wine and then hold each other close for the rest of the night. For the first time since Jimmy met him, Tango shivers. Jimmy holds him hard and tries his best to rub warmth into his back.

And then Jimmy gets caught.

:

It’s his own fault. Of course it is. It always is.

The snow has stopped by morning, but Tango is still shivering. His golden hair is just hair, no sparks or flames at all. His tail is barely a smoldering ember.

“I’m fine,” he assures Jimmy though cracked blue lips. “It’s just a cold, it’ll pass. Not so good in the rain and snow, is all. I’ll be right as rain in no time, don’t even w-worry about it.”

Jimmy does worry. The only food they have left is hardtack, and the only water is freezing cold. Tango’s so weak that he can't even heat it. “There’s a town near here. You rest, I’ll keep my head down and get you something warm to eat.”

“Don’t,” Tango says, but any sternness is undercut by his trembling. “I’m telling you, I’ll be fine. If we get going now we’ll make it to the border before sundown. I’m serious, Jimmy, don’t.”

“I won’t go,” Jimmy lies. “Rest anyway. One nap to regain your strength won’t kill us.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually Tango agrees, and drops off nearly as soon as Jimmy cards a hand through his hair. Then he tucks Tango in, builds the fire as high as is safe, and hikes through the snow to the nearest village.

When he gets there, the townsfolk are too busy digging themselves out to really spare him a second glance. Notably, he doesn’t see a single paper with his name on it, not even in the tavern. He keeps his head down anyway, he’s careful, and he doesn’t whoop with joy when the tavernkeeper says they serve blaze powder soup, no matter how badly he wants to. 

As soon as the town is at his back he sheds his cloak to wrap up the bowl and keep the heat in. A little sloshes over the side, but not much. In minutes his spine is aching and his muscles are seizing with cold, but it’s fine. Tango isn’t far. 

He doesn’t see the club coming at all. Suddenly his head is cracking open, and his teeth are rattling in his skull, and starbursts are blotting out his vision and he’s on the ground, in the snow. 

There are men. There are ropes. Jimmy blinks sluggishly and stares at the soup, splattered and steaming, and thinks, but that was meant for Tango; what will Tango have to warm him now? And he thinks, I’ll have to get free, so I can get more.

Darkness pulls him under.

:

“For the last time,” says the mercenary. “Where’s that coal mine attached to your hip?”

He’s one of five. Jimmy doesn’t know which one; they all look the same, even a week out, with the same rough beards and ugly laughter and bad humor. He might be able to discern them if he ever looked at their faces for more than a second at a time, but he refuses to do that, even when they yank on the rope slowly skinning his wrists and grab his chin and sneer inches from his face.

“For the last time,” Jimmy says back. “I wasn’t traveling with anyone.”

The man growls. Jimmy’s wanted poster is shoved in his face. It’s old, the ink smudged and barely legible.

“Bullshit. It says right here, coal mine. We want that reward, canary, and we’ll have it.”

“The paper’s wrong,” Jimmy snaps. “But kudos, you know, for being able to read. You don’t look the type.”

The back of his hand splits Jimmy’s mouth open. Blood speckles the snow in bright ruby droplets. The earth spins and Jimmy starts to list toward it until a meaty hand throttles his collar and brings him nose to nose. Jimmy looks sharply to the side.

“Watch yourself, canary. Mouth off like that again and I’ll skewer and roast you over this fire.”

It’s a bad fire, objectively. Tango’s are better by far. Jimmy shouldn’t say so, but he’s going to, because he’s angry. When he woke up and realized what had happened, he was angry. The next day he was angrier. And the day after that he was angrier still. He keeps expecting himself to cower, but his fury won’t let him. He’s angrier than he’s ever been in his life. He’s angry at the mercenaries, and at Ren and Martyn. He’s angry at Joel and Grian and his curse and the world and himself. He’s so sick of fear and sadness and hurt. The hurt won’t ever stop but he can get rid of the others. He can spit in this man’s face and damn the consequences. It’s not like he hasn’t died before.

Jimmy opens his mouth but all that comes out is a grunt of pain, echoed by the mercenary when another one comes and kicks him in the hip.

“No, you fuckin’ won’t. Reward’s only if we bring him in alive. You kill him, I kill you.”

Around the pitiful fire the other mercs guffaw in unison. The first man growls, gives Jimmy a shake like a dog with a rabbit, and then throws him aside. 

“Reward don’t say nothin’ about roughing you up,” the man says. His boot digs into Jimmy’s stomach. Jimmy glares down at the snow and dirt and blood and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out.

They try to get Tango’s whereabouts out of him for a while longer, but eventually grow bored with his silence. After a short debate they toss Jimmy the bones of their dinner. Jimmy ignores it.

In the dead of night, when most of the mercenaries are sleeping except the one on watch, Jimmy thinks he can hear the musical call of a horn in the distance. He thinks he must be dreaming. 

:

At the end of the second week, the mercs get drunk. More drunk than any other night. At first Jimmy thinks this might be an opportunity for escape.

They drink more. They get reckless. Jimmy thinks, oh, this is bad. He’s right.

All they do at first is taunt him. Shove him around a little. A few more bottles in and they come up with a quick, admittedly creative game involving Jimmy’s curse. One mercenary grabs a rock and has the others stand around him in a loose circle. Jimmy is forced to stand in the center as well, and as the man with the rock turns slowly, threatening each of his friends one by one, the other merc watch Jimmy for his reaction. When Jimmy flinches at a strike to the shoulder or hip or face, the mercenaries try to dive out of the way of the hit they know is coming.

They do this for an hour. Jimmy is barely standing by the end of it. He doesn’t cry out once.

He doesn’t cry out, either, as they drag him to a tree and tie him to the trunk. Drunk fingers make poor knots. He could get out of this, he thinks. If he could just get his feet under him. If he could just make his hands work and his vision stop swimming.

The mercenaries are speaking to him. Words register on delay. 

“Can the canary sing for himself?” one mercenary slurs. “Let’s find out!”

“It won’t work,” Jimmy mutters. His curse has never worked on himself. They don’t hear him.

One pulls a crossbow, and takes too long fumbling a bolt in. The others egg him on. “If you kill our reward, I’ll take it out of your hide,” one of them says, but doesn’t stop him.

“Stop distracting me,” says the man with the crossbow. He takes wavering aim. “I’ll jus’ knick his arm.”

Jimmy stares down the stock. He thinks about all the time Joel and Grian have ever laughed at him. He thinks of all the times Joel and Grian have ever made him laugh. He thinks of Tango, and the fragrance of spiced tea. He wonders if dying for real will feel like every other time he’s died. 

A bolt slots neat and sharp between his ribs, and Jimmy thinks, yes, this hurts just as much as every other time.

The pain is blinding. He died to an assassin’s arrow once, choking on blood that both was and wasn’t flooding his lungs. It took ages. He hopes this is quicker. He can’t catch his breath. His head hangs and tears press from his eyes. For a second his vision clears.

There’s nothing there.

His head snaps up. The mercenary is still taking aim.

He shouts, “Tango, don’t—” 

An inferno consumes the camp, and Jimmy’s vision sears to colorless white. 

The mercenaries are screaming. A fire is roaring. Someone cuts Jimmy free, but he doesn’t see who. He can’t see anything. Pain comes in from everywhere, too much to separate. He’s burning and he’s bruising and he’s coming apart. All of it coalesces, all of it becomes the one lancing bolt that isn’t in his ribs. He can’t think of anything else. He can’t think at all. 

“Tango,” he chokes. “Tango—”

His vision starts to go. No. He can’t die, not to this. If he dies, then that means Tango—

If Jimmy could lift his head, he’d see the forest on fire, and the mercenaries burning alive. He’d see Tango’s heaving back, bright as a star, and he’d see him turning back to find him, a hand pressed to the wound in his side.

Jimmy does not see. Jimmy is dead.

:

First, Jimmy stops being dead. Then he’s sleeping. In some starry, dreamless place, he grieves. Then he wakes up. 

The first thing he notes is the ornate ceiling, a mural to Ren’s magnificence. Various takes on this same theme are painted in every room of the castle, so it's pretty obvious where he is. Either he was dead much longer than he's ever been or some other mode of transportation cut the travel time down to a fraction. Maybe both.

The next thing he notes is Grian and Joel standing over him. That explains that--Grian probably flew him here. They stood over him like this the first time he died, too. An old man had had a heart attack nearby, though they didn’t know it then. Jimmy was dead, and then he wasn’t, and then he was staring at Grian’s face, a thousand miles away, and Joel beside him, blubbering into his hands. When they realized he was alive they screamed. 

They don’t scream this time, and they aren't crying. They look like they might have been, though. Their eyes are rimmed with red.

“Look who’s awake,” Grian says. His wings are poorly groomed and his smirk doesn’t look half as shit-eating as it usually does. He nudges Joel in the side. “Go get him, Joel.”

Joel glares. “Why me? You go get him!”

They argue about it for a minute, though Jimmy is too muddled by death to follow. Who are they fighting about getting? Ren? Martyn?

He settles back into his pillows. It doesn’t matter, does it?

Grian wins, eventually, much to Joel’s chagrin. He turns his glare on Jimmy, as he usually does. Jimmy expects to be noogied or boxed around the ears. Instead Joel hooks an arm under his neck and butts their foreheads together. 

“If you ever scare me like that again,” he says, and sniffles hard, “I’ll bloomin’ kill you, you hear me?”

He huffs and grumbles his way out of the room. Jimmy watches him go. He turns his attention to Grian.

Grian waves a little. “Hi, Tim.”

“Hi, Grian,” Jimmy says, and he bursts into tears.

Grian holds him. “There there, you big baby,” he says, and pats his back gently. 

Tango is gone, Jimmy tries to say. He tries to say, I’m sorry you had to save me again, I’m glad to see you, Tango’s gone. Tango’s gone.

Instead he cries and snuffs and gets snot all over Grian’s red sweater. Somehow, Grian lets him. He pushes at Jimmy until he scoots over on the bed. There’s more than enough room for them both; the beds in the castle are bigger and softer than any he shared with Tango on the road. That thought sets him wailing again. Grian chirps at him, sits him up until Jimmy’s slumped in the center of the bed and Grian can sit comfortably behind him, picking through his wings while he hiccups and sobs and shakes.

The tears don’t stop, but eventually they quiet. Various saline fluids drip silently down his face while Grian preens him. 

Grian says, “Why didn’t you tell us you wanted to leave, Timmy?”

Jimmy’s breath shudders out of him. “You—you would have come with me.”

“Obviously.”

Jimmy can hear Grian’s eye-roll in his voice. He bites the inside of his cheek. “…You would have made me feel bad about it. I didn’t want to ruin your life.”

Grian’s practiced fingers twitch to a stop deep in his feathers. He huffs, withdraws his hands, then closes them firmly on Jimmy’s shoulders and turns him in place.

“You ruin my life every day, Timmy,” Grian says. He's frowning, but he meets Jimmy's eyes with determination. “But so does Joel. And I ruin yours and his too. We're all messing with each other, all the time. That’s how it’s meant to be, or we wouldn’t be—we wouldn’t be—”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. Grian’s face falls into relief.

“We went after you anyway, you understand?” he says, gentler than before. “It was a lot of work, but we’d do it again. And we’d only make fun of you a little. So next time, just take us with you, save us the trouble.”

“Okay.” Jimmy’s eyes swell up again. “Okay.” Then he says, “I met someone.”

“I know. We were tracking you both. We found him first, then he helped us find you.” Grian pulls his sleeves down over his hands to wipe carefully at Jimmy’s face. More tears take the place of the last.

Jimmy can barely get the words out. “He’s gone, Grian. I don’t, I can’t—he’s gone.”

Grian’s eyebrows fly into his hair. “What?”

The door opens. Joel staggers in, supporting a wild-eyed Tango. His hair is a mess, singed at the tips. His slim chest is a cocoon of white bandaging. He is very much not dead.

“Jimmy!” 

Tango breaks free despite Joel’s protest. He launches at Jimmy and immediately falls flat on his face. Jimmy feels it first.

Jimmy screams a little. Then he lurches out of Grian’s grasp and straight off the side of the bed. 

“You’re—you’re alive! Tango, you’re alive!”

“I’m alive? You’re alive!” Tango springs up. His nose is bleeding. His hands are warm on Jimmy’s arms, helping him up, then on his face. The calloused pads of his fingers, the chips of his claws, the warmth of him. Alive. “I can’t believe you went to town like that, I told you not to, ooohhh, I’m so mad I could kiss you—”

“You’re alive,” Jimmy is sobbing. “You’re alive.”

Tango’s mouth wobbles, then purses, then wobbles some more. That makes no sense. What reason does he have to cry?

He pulls Jimmy into his chest. Every awkward angle and sharp jut of bone digs into him, and Jimmy only holds closer, tighter. 

“I thought I lost you,” Tango says. His voice cracks. “I thought I’d never see you again. When I saw what those bastards did to you, I lost my mind. I could have burned the whole forest down. I could have killed them all.”

“You did kill them,” Grian says flatly. “Like, all of them. Barely left any for me and Joel. Rude.” 

"I hurt you," Tango says. His arms around Jimmy stop holding so tight, which won't do. "When I burned them, I hurt you. You died for me, again. I'm so sorry."

"I don't care about that. I come back to life, Tango, you don't. You—" He pushes Tango back by the shoulders, feels his heart break at the sight of the bandages. "Oh my god, you did get shot. I knew it. You can’t do that again, not ever.”

Tango makes a clucking, clicking noise. Through the panic, Jimmy thinks: I missed your silly noises. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do my best to not get shot again.”

He’s smiling. It’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. He's alive.

Tango taps their foreheads together. Jimmy’s eyes flutter shut. His nose is clogged, but he fights for a deep breath anyway. Just one breath of that spark and spice. Just one more. Just one more.

“Also I’m here,” Joel says loudly. “If anyone cares.”

Jimmy ignores him.

:

Jimmy is on the road again. The air is cold but not bitter. The snow is finally starting to thaw.

Grian and Joel filled him in on what happened to his bounty. Turns out as soon as they learned that he fled, they went to appeal to the king on his behalf. Predictably, the king ignored them. Joel and Grian are not to be ignored, as Jimmy knows better than anyone.

After weeks of dedicated campaigning and psychological warfare, in which they managed to turn the whole capital city against its monarch, the Red King gave way to King Ren. King Ren remembered that actually he liked that funny little canary guy, and didn’t think it was all that groovy to hold him against his will. The bounty was lifted, a retraction was printed, and Grian and Joel took off after Jimmy. Instead they found Tango fuming in the snow. The mercenaries were acting on a bounty that wasn't even live anymore.

Jimmy isn’t ready to believe any of it until Martyn, grudgingly, hands him a severance package in the form of several bags of gold, the reins to a genuinely massive horse, and an official pardon with the king’s signature and seal. Ren calls Jimmy dude in it.

“What are you going to call him?” Tango asks.

“Norman, I think,” Jimmy says. Tango nods approvingly.

“Norman. I like it!”

Tango is walking beside Jimmy with a pardon of his own, and even a small sack of gold as an apology for the bounty. No horse, though. He’s the main reason Jimmy hasn’t mounted and rode off into the horizon. Joel and Grian are closing out their own affairs, and then they’re planning on catching up to Jimmy and helping get him set up in the next biome. Ranching still doesn’t seem like the kind of life they’d enjoy, so he doubts they’ll stay. Jimmy will live on without them. He did in the castle, and the did on the road. They can survive apart. It's nice to know, still, that they'll come when he calls.

As for why they're trailing a day behind, Jimmy suspects the only real reason for that is because they’re giving him and Tango time to…he’s not sure what.

Jimmy says, “I guess you don’t have to escort me to the border, anymore.”

Tango kicks at some slush. “I guess not.”

“You could go back to your demolition crew. Or anywhere else you wanted.”

“Yup. Yup.”

The sun is rising. The sky is mostly pink. In the distance birds are singing.

“I was thinking—”

“If you wanted, you could—”

They look at each other. Jimmy laughs, and so does Tango, clear and loud.

“You first,” Tango says.

Jimmy summons his courage. He’s surprised at how easily he finds it.

“You could stay,” he says. Tango stops walking, and so does Jimmy.

“What?”

“You could stay at the ranch, I mean. You said you wanted to see the plains, so you’re still welcome to join. You could stay at the ranch. For a little while, or—or however long you’d like.”

Tango stares at him. Jimmy’s courage falters, but does not crumble. He starts rambling.

“You wouldn’t have to pay rent or anything. Just help me around the ranch sometimes, with the cows. And the warden. And when you want to go explore, you could, and the ranch could be like—like a homebase or something. I’d never expect you to get hurt for me. And you’d—you’d never expect me to get hurt for you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Tango says. “Never.”

“I know.” Jimmy’s throat is tight. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Tango takes a few deep breaths. He looks a little starstruck, which Jimmy wasn’t expecting, and is very sweet. With each one breath the flames in his hair and tail swell and ebb, swell and ebb, until they calm down with one firm exhale. Jimmy waits patiently.

Tango meets his eyes and clears his throat. “Yeah, yes, I’d like that. I’d really really like that. I was going to say the same thing, but you said it better. You’re really incredible, you know that?”

Jimmy kisses him. Quick, the corner of his mouth.

Tango looks starstruck again. “Wow.”

Jimmy spins to face his new horse and mess with the bridle. It nickers knowingly. “Ahem. Um. Are we both going to be able to fit, do you think?”

There’s a sound that might be Tango slapping his cheeks. “Only one way to find out!”

They do both fit, though it takes about ten minutes of flailing and sliding off the side and Norman probably laughing at them in horse. The whole thing is objectively humiliating. Jimmy doesn’t care a whit.

It’s full morning by the time they’re ready to start moving again. Tango’s arms come around Jimmy’s waist. His smile is sharp and crooked at his shoulder. “Ready, rancher?”

A thrill goes up Jimmy’s spine. “Born ready!” 

He gives Norman a little kick. They rocket into a gallop, and in under five minutes Jimmy is somehow the one tumbling off the side of the saddle.

Tango howls with laughter. He pulls Norman into a canter, then a trot, then a walk. It’s clear which of them have actually ridden before. “Oh man, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Jimmy groans from the ground. “Maybe you should drive the horse.”

That sets Tango off again. “Sure, sure. I’ll drive the horse. Here, let me help you up.”

He leans down, offers his hand. Jimmy takes it.

“My hero,” he laughs. “My rancher.”

:

#life series #traffic smp #double life smp #team rancher #mcytblrholidayexchange2023 #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #tango tek #grian #joel smallishbeans #ran's writing #life series fic #fantasy au #Jimmy is on the run for his life #Tango is just along for the ride #Jimmy and Tango's Big Disaster Road Trip

[birrdies]

at the kitchen table (third life fic, 891 words)

Grian sits at grief’s kitchen table. It used to be his— theirs— but something far greater occupies it now. He can’t call it his, even though the birch is well worn with use. Beaten from dumping battered weapons and armor at the end of the day (before they started sleeping with it, before they forwent sleeping all together), far more than any shared meal. 

The table’s empty. The last of their slim pickings is buried outside in the sand with Scar’s body. Grian sits inside, protected from the howling wind and pretending like he can drown out the spectators. One more death, they insist. This isn’t over yet. 

Give me a second, he barks back. 

He’s never been one for outright cowardice. He knows there’s no avoiding this fate. He practically wrote it himself. But Scar taught him a thing or two on how to delay the inevitable. How to buy yourself time, how to become slippery and escape all things that are meant for you. Bitterly, Grian can’t help but wonder why he hadn’t done it for himself in the end. 

This is all Grian needs— a moment, a brief reprieve, a second to be untouchable— it’s all he asks for. Himself and the kitchen table, the empty chair across from him. Normalcy, or as close to it as he can reach.

Elbows propped on the sandy wood, Grian hides his face in his hands and chuckles. How ridiculous it is: a hollow kitchen standing around him, dusty and vacant and haunted. Grian never cooked anything in here. They never shared a meal at this table. It was always scraps over a fire, stale bread stuffed in their pockets, endless days in the blazing desert heat. Too scared to sit and eat properly. Too restless. 

Why even build a kitchen at all? Grian’s laughter possesses him now, broken and shrill and hollow without Scar here to cause it. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until his vision splotches and his head spins. How stupid could he have been? To build a kitchen, to hope to use it? 

He had wanted nothing more than to be free of the madman bound to him by nothing more than Grian’s misplaced guilt and a few meager promises. Weak strings, really. He could’ve left anytime he wanted. And Scar would have let him.

But he built a kitchen for them anyway. Before the loyalty set in like a fever. Before this was it: him and Scar and the vacant dunes.

Before Scar had made the choice for him. 

There was room for love here, Grian thinks as his laughter turns to tears— a more silent affair.

The spectators nag in the back of his mind, more a sickening chill crawling the length of his spine than any kind of coherent voice. Goosebumps pepper his skin, but he refuses to move. He sits like a sentinel over this empty kitchen, the bleeding heart of their home, with nothing but his own anger as a weapon. 

Anger can only do so much. Grian wipes his tears only to realize there’s still blood on his fingers, now smeared on his cheeks. Trembling fingers curl into fists. Grian studies the way they move, counting his shaking breaths and knowing they’ll be his last. 

He’s hurt. It won’t take much else to finish the job. A cut on the crest of his cheek bleeds sluggishly, stings in the gritty air, but there’s no point tending to it. The bruises around his middle ache terribly. 

Scar could’ve killed him. If he pushed a little further. Hit a little harder. If he wanted it enough. 

But, no. Scar went down with a smile. He got what he wanted and Grian got this. Grian’s never hated him more. 

Slowly Grian rises from his seat at the kitchen table. He runs his fingers over the sanded wood one last time before stepping back out beneath the desert sun. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. A chill swoops through him, nearly takes him off his feet. There are eyes on him, somewhere, but he’s never felt more alone. 

He steps over Scar and Pizza’s shared grave and treks through the cactus ring to get to the edge of the hill. The part where the drop is steep and the base is rocky. It’ll be quick. It’ll be painless— at least, infinitely more painless than everything else he’s felt at the mercy of the game, at the mercy of the desert, at the mercy of Scar. 

He’s the last man standing, but what exactly is it that he’s won? It’s hard to feel like a victor when all he feels is cruel and beaten. When his head is heavy with the crown of eager eyes and his legs shake with the burden of keeping the rest of him upright. When there’s nothing to stand over proudly except for unmarked graves and a lonely desert hill. 

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. Because Grian doesn’t want to be left to haunt a kitchen Scar never even stepped foot into.  It doesn’t matter, because Grian won. He takes a step over the edge.

#third life #third life fic #life series fic #desert duo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #desert duo fic #birdie writes #back at it with my BS

[frozenjokes]

Annoying, Smelly, Stupid, Loud Wolves, Of Which Joel Is Not Even A Little Bit Fond Of

Now, Joel didn’t really know what the fuck was going on, but all in all, he wasn’t too fussed. He had a nice little house, a nice view; a perfectly good place to be in the middle of a death game.

He didn’t have many allies or anything, but no enemies either- you could say he was a bit of a lone wolf, like a really cool mysterious loner type lone wolf, not a stupid loser wolf with no friends, an awesome, kickass type with big teeth or whatever- A cool guy. Cooler than you at least, though, it’s not harder to be cooler than you, especially when you’re Joel and you’re a lone wolf.

Speaking of wolves. They were loud.

Yesterday he had seen quite a few of them out and about, wandering, growling, pissing on things; dog stuff, you understand. But it only really hit how many of them there suddenly were at night when Joel was alone in bed in his house where no one else lived (perfectly secure, mind you), and they were just barking and yipping and howling and making a right mess of his backyard with their scratching and digging and, as established, pissing everywhere- it was a complete pain, and rolling out of bed to yell and wave his hands and throw a fit did nothing to deter them. Which. Probably fair. But a sleepless Joel was not a happy Joel, and you could hardly blame him. (You couldn’t blame him at all actually, like you would fare much better, okay, because you wouldn’t.)

Joel wasn’t quite sure what he meant to accomplish when he set out the next day, but his stride held some amount of purpose, and hopefully that’d be enough to show these wolves who’s boss. He could bark too, did you know? He could bite! He wouldn’t though, not a dog, that’s some freak shit, and also he didn’t want to die, but he could. If he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

And then, a distant whine.

Joel didn’t have a specific location in mind; he was just walking, and he hadn’t intended to follow the noise, persistent as it was, but he was closing the distance, perhaps his own curiosity being too much for his own good. And Joel wasn’t surprised it was coming from a wolf; of course it was, they were everywhere all of a sudden.

But he was surprised where the wolf had gotten itself stuck.

“For goodness’s sake.” A third ravine. This had to be a third one. Joel was just about sure a giant crack in the ground was not here before, solidly dividing his and Scott’s and Jimmy’s side of the flower biome- what the hell? He checked his communicator; didn’t seem like anyone had died from fall damage recently, so clearly this hole hadn’t opened up under someone’s feet like the desert ravine and the Crastle ravine. Now, Joel hadn’t seen the ravine in the desert (He did want to check in on Grian, but right now he wasn’t touching Scar with an eight foot pole), but he had seen the Crastle ravine, and this one looked just as deep and dark and ominously bottomless. Another whine cut through Joel’s thoughts. Oh no.

Cautiously, extremely cautiously, Joel poked his head over the edge, and sure enough, there was a wolf stuck on a small rocky outcrop, pawing uselessly at the steep edge and crying pitifully. It was pretty far down- blooming hell, how did it get down there. Goodness, the poor thing. It looked up, large, black eyes round and pitiful and-

“Alright, alright, I’m coming, you just sit tight. Sit.” The wolf did not sit, nor did Joel expect it to, but it did seem to understand something was happening when Joel started a careful bridge downwards. He didn’t have that many blocks; one by one stairs would have to be enough if he didn’t want to leave the pup hanging, but he managed, the wolf growing more restless as Joel inched closer and closer.

Eventually, he got close enough to touch the poor thing. There was no way Joel was going to let it walk up his precarious bridge on its own, but luckily, the wolf must have been so relieved to be helped, it didn’t even whine as Joel scooped it up, only wiggling gently in his arms. Fine. That was fine. Everything was fine actually, Joel taking his time to carefully turn around before he heard another whine, and then a bark, and hey- was that growling? He looked down. What could have been a hundred more pairs of eyes stared back up at him.

“Oh, for goodness’s sake!”

…

Joel didn’t even know how many dogs he rescued from the ravine before he fell. It was almost inevitable really, falling, especially building precarious bridges all over the damn place to carry out stupid ass wolves who were apparently breeding like rabbits at the bottom of a ravine with zero food. Why the hell were they even spawning down there in the first place? They just have fallen, right? Nevertheless. Despite being resigned to the fact that he was most certainly going to fall and die while rescuing idiot dogs from starving or whatever, Joel was quite miffed about how he fell.

He hadn’t even been bridging or not looking where he was going- he hadn’t even been carrying a dog, and thank goodness for that. He had been standing on a perfectly stable platform, a wide platform, a natural outcrop he’d walked over a thousand times before it just- collapsed. Just like that. And he was about 90% sure it wasn’t made of gravel or sand or anything either, but he had a lot of time to doubt himself as he fell. Why was he falling for so long anyway? And why was it so cold?

And then he was suffocating. Oh.

Smallishbeans fell out of the world.

Joel jolted bolt upright in bed as he gasped for air, clutching at his chest. It had been a while since his last void death and they were never pleasant- always leaving that lingering feeling of cold and terror for hours afterward unlike most any other death in the game.

Hey, wait, how had he managed to fall out of the world..? Jimmy had done it once as well, hadn’t he? Ugh, this stupid server was so broken!

(Hopefully Grian would be in the state to fix it soon, but Joel wasn’t too keen on thinking too much about what was looking like this server literally collapsing in on itself.)

Joel had died once before this and was red now, but felt no different, and honestly didn’t really care all that much; his dogs were still at the ravine, they were waiting for him, and surely they’d seen him fall? He wouldn’t have that.

But as he left the front door of his home, Joel was quite literally nose to nose with Ren and Martyn, who looked just as shocked as he must have, Ren’s fist raised to knock.

“Greetings, scum!” Ren greeted brightly, and Martyn crossed his arms behind him, sort of stoic looking, or at least that’s what Joel was pretty sure he was going for.

“Uh, hey guys, I’m actually kind of busy right now, could you come back la-“

“Silence in the presence of your king, The Red King Of Dogwarts!” Martyn bellowed, then looked to Ren, almost shyly, “Was that good?”

“Perfect, my dude! Yes, yes, we are here today to request kindly your loyalty to The Red King!” Ren put all sorts of unnecessary flourish on his words, rolling his ‘r’s whenever he got the chance. Honestly, kind of a lot to face after suffocating in the void.

“Okay.” Joel sighed, hoping if he played along this would wrap up quickly, “You have my loyalty. There you go.”

“Oh!” Ren looked so genuinely delighted, even the accent dropped, and Joel had to roll his eyes with an exaggerated scowl to keep himself from smiling, “That’s great! We do need tribute, though.”

“What tribute?”

“Oh, like how when people living in a kingdom pay tribute to the castle in return for its protection! Like-“

“I know what it means, Ren, what do you want?” Joel had to cut him off; Ren’s excitement (presumably at how well this was going) was getting to the point of being too much to bear.

“Well, fine sir- my, I must say, you are looking quite handsome today! Very handsome, very strong.”

“I am handsome and strong, yes, continue please.”

“Well, Dogwarts requires you hang upon your lovely home the red banner that signifies your loyalty to the crown! Placed where the whole serrrver can see it!” Ren puffed out his chest to the point of ridiculousness, producing a banner from his inventory to present to Joel, though his valiant attempt at being intimidating(?) was bogged down a tad by his shining eyes. “And also that you come to fight by our side when we call upon the banner, for it signifies our mutual commitment to the land of Dogwarts! We, of course, will be ready to jump to your defense, should you so require.”

Joel took the banner from Ren’s hands, only giving it a moment’s glance before hanging it above his front door. “There. That good?”

“Brrrilliant!” Ren whooped, hopping on his toes, “What do you think, Martyn?”

“It’s perfect, mi’lord!”

“Perfect! Yes, I agree. Welcome to the family, Joel of Smallish Beans! Trust me that you will not regret this decision!” Ren beamed, and before Joel could even ask if they were finished, the two of them turned around, galloping off on fake horses without so much as a goodbye. Well. Guess that would do. Joel gathered his things, and made his way back toward the ravine.

He couldn’t go down there again, that was for sure; he wasn’t about to get knocked out of the game for a few more dumb dogs, but at this point, Joel was pretty sure he had left behind enough scaffolding that any more unfortunate wolves could finagle their way back to the surface if they were determined enough. That would have to be fine. He definitely wouldn’t be thinking about it after this. Not at all.

Joel was pleasantly surprised to see how many wolves were still lingering where he had left them, and then a little annoyed- seriously, standing so close to the ravine must have been how they all fell down there in the first place! Though, that feeling dissipated when the wolves spotted him, their tails wagging gently in a gesture that was quite adorable when multiplied by so many dogs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d be happy to see me too, just came to let you all know I wasn’t dead or anything. I was a little bit dead. But I’m back. So. Good talk.”

The wolves definitely weren’t tame; most of them kept their distance, and the few that trotted forward took great care in not getting too close. A great improvement from being growled at in the woods though, seriously, Joel was starting to feel like one wrong move would end with him getting torn apart. Hopefully these ravine wolves would tell the surface wolves he wasn’t a bad guy.

Joel stopped, pausing for the first time to really look at the gathered dogs. There were.. a lot of them. It looked almost ridiculous to see dozens and dozens of them gathered together like this; Joel was sure he’d hadn’t rescued this many, but he couldn’t exactly be sure, either. Goodness. He had really been doing this for a while.

Well! A day well spent. Now that the wolves knew he hadn’t died tragically saving their sorry lives, he could turn right around and head home with a clear conscience, and maybe even do something productive. And that he did, starting his journey home with a few long strides on his very long legs before- thump thump thump. A soft sound, almost like an echo of his own footsteps in the grass, only multiplied by about a hundred times.

Joel turned around. The wolves stared back, unmoving. “Oi,” he said. A couple of them cocked their heads. Whatever. He kept going.

Thump thump thump thump thump.

“Oi!” Joel whirled around, and most of the dogs had to stumble over their paws to stop in his stride, yipping and growling as they stepped on each others’ toes and tails. “This is not happening. I do not have room for all of you. More importantly, you'll be in my way. I’ll have dog shit on my shoes for the rest of my life. No.”

The dogs stared back.

(This was, in fact, happening. Joel wouldn’t let them in the house, though.)

It was safe to say Joel wasn’t in a fantastic mood as he neared his home. He hadn’t gotten anything productive done, he died being stupid, he had about a hundred new dogs he did not want- listen, he could be praised as a hero among hounds if they insisted on worshiping him. Joel wouldn’t fight such a title! But he was not in the position to be responsible for anyone right now, including but not limited to a shit load of dogs. And Joel was tired too; hauling good boys out from big ravines and then dying in the void would wipe anyone out! Which is exactly why his heart sank as he heard voices arguing outside his house.

“So we can’t talk to anyone now? Is that it? Anyone with your rOyAl rEd bAnnErs is off limits? I bet Joel doesn’t even like your banner, it’s ugly and it smells. Is that a stain?” That was Scar’s voice, which honestly, was a massive surprise. Joel could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him over the course of the game- would Grian be here too?

“Do not speak ill of the Dogwarts banner, scum!” Martyn bellowed- were they still doing that accent, seriously? “They are not ugly, nor do they smell! Weaved by my very hands just this morning they were!”

“Oh so that’s why they stink.”

Pause.

“Guess I walked into that one,” Martyn mumbled, decidedly out of character.

“Silence, heathen!” and there was Ren, just as loud as his partner in crime, “You shalt not crosseth these lands, for they are protected under the Red King! Me! If you do not want your head to be SLICED from your shoulders, I suggest unkindly that you leave this place AT ONCE.”

“You see, I just don’t believe that you’re..” Scar trailed off as Joel entered the clearing, his mouth hanging slightly at the army of dogs at Joel’s heels. “Wolves here too, huh?”

Grian was right beside him, uncharacteristically silent as he always was lately; maybe he was dizzy or had a headache or any other number of symptoms from his supposed ‘concussion.’ He wasn’t smiling either, when anyone that remotely knew him would know he should be, especially in the middle of the dramatic sequence like this. Or maybe he wouldn’t be smiling, but trying to pull Scar away instead, insisting they avoid this confrontation while making everything worse with not-so-subtle jabs. He would be doing something. He would be feeling something.

“Don’t talk to me about wolves,” Joel grumbled, turning around so that they all froze in place, then turning again to keep walking, followed by the thumping of clumsy paws.

“Joel!” Ren cut in, sounding quite pleased with himself, “You should know that your alliance to the Red Crown is already paying off! We were just about to chase these scoundrels off your land, though, with a battalion like that, I don’t expect them to bother you anymore.”

“We were not bothering anyone! Joel, I only wanted to know which hole you fell into. You didn’t say in the chat or anything, and you weren’t answering your messages..” Scar looked almost guilty, but that was probably just because he was the king of ignoring messages on this server, maybe only second behind Grian. (But Grian was sick.. It wasn’t his fault.)

“New hole. Between mine and Jimmy and Scott’s bases.”

Ren and Martyn exchanged a shocked glance, though Scar didn’t look very surprised at all; a little concerned, maybe, but not surprised, and any trace of worry vanished when Scar threw Martyn a sly glance, Martyn fuming in return. Well, Joel didn’t really care what was going on between them, so he didn’t interrupt their silent argument, going instead to Grian.

Joel had to get frighteningly close before Grian even looked up, not even acknowledging him with anything other than a glance.

“Hey, Grian. You okay? How’re you holding up?”

“I’m alright.”

Joel paused, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. “Well, I’d let you pet my new wolves if they’d let me touch them. We’re working on it. You’d think after hauling them out of the ravine one by one they wouldn’t be so fussed, but they don’t seem to like it when I get too close. That’s how I fell in, actually, funny story. It was a very heroic thing I’ll tell you, a piece of falling rubble frightened one of the dogs in my arms when we were so close to the top. I lost my balance, but in my last moments I threw the wolf as hard as I could the rest of the way to the top, and it almost didn’t make it, scrabbling with its little paws against the dirt, but the last thing I saw before I died was the same dog, having turned around to give me a salute before I hit the gr- well, before I died.”

Grian stared, clearly listening, but taking a while to process, and Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated someone speaking so much. “I don’t want to pet the wolves.”

“Well! That’s all I came by to ask, so we’ll be leaving now, just like you two,” Scar gestured vaguely to Ren and Martyn, his grin unwavering, “wanted so badly! Congratulations on chasing us heathens off your land! Goodbyyyyye!” Scar waved as he turned, and Grian copied the gesture like nothing was wrong with him at all, speaking without turning around.

“Bye, Joel.”

Joel gaped. Ren and Martyn didn’t look nearly as surprised, instead a more tired expression painted across their faces, and Joel started to wonder just how much they’d had to deal with. Maybe he had picked the right side, even if this was just a game. Even if they were all just.. playing around.

“Well, we must be going as well,” Ren sighed, only a hint of his frankenstein accent remaining, “Many places to see before dark. Much to do.”

“Yes!” Martyn was clearly making an effort to lighten the mood, nudging Ren softly, “We must paint this land red. First with literal paint- our banners, you know, AND THEN WITH BLOOD!”

“Aye!” Ren cheered.

“Aye aye!” Martyn cheered right back, leading the way down the slope in the opposite direction Scar and Grian were headed, chin held high. Ren trotted after him with a smile, both of them completely forgetting to say goodbye. Well. That was fine. All Joel wanted to do right now was lay down. The wolves were still keeping their distance, but Joel made sure to slide carefully through the front door anyway, just in case anyone decided they wanted to force their way inside. Fine. This was fine. The dogs were fine, Grian was fine, and the server was most definitely fine; nothing to worry about.

…

Joel had no reason to think the wolves would be quieter tonight. There was no reason they would be, though Joel had held the small hope they would do him a favor and shut their snouts in return for his saving their lives.

Would you believe that was not the case? Joel would. Joel would believe it, laying in bed, wide awake and very irritated about it. But it wasn’t just the howling and yipping and biting and scuffling and running around like freaks; tonight they were scratching at his door. It was an awful noise, hardest to ignore, especially when a wolf would occasionally decide running face first into the door was a solid plan. The first time Joel had gotten up, he saw at least five just waiting out there, staring at him, but he had closed the door in their faces when they had tried to come in. No way! No. way.

The second time he got up, he let the gathered wolves in. There were less this time, only three, and if that was going to stop the scratching then letting them in was a sacrifice Joel was willing to make.

It did not stop the scratching.

It felt like Joel had gotten up at least ten times before there were thirty wolves in his home, sniffing and grumbling and being complete nuisances, but after that, after his house was packed to the brim with smelly dogs, the scratching finally stopped.

And then a wolf climbed into his bed. No. No. Joel kicked it off, probably with the added flourish of several expletives, but the dog growled back, something low and unhappy. A reminder that it was a wolf, huge, and could absolutely eat his face if it wanted.

Okay.

One dog.

…

Two dogs.

…

At three dogs, Joel could not fit in his own bed anymore. Fine. So he got up and made a bed. Two beds actually! You could say his foresight was impeccable. (It was not enough beds.)

By the time Joel had made five beds, he tried separating them from his own, but, predictably, this ended up with ten wolves attempting to pile into his bed at once and more than one future bruise via sharp elbows and uncoordinated paws, so finally Joel just gave in, pushing all five beds plus his own together so he could just be done.

…

Did you know dogs snore? Some dogs snore. Some bark in their sleep. Some kick. Some punch you in the face for no reason. Did you know? Joel knew.

Well. This was his life now. Guess that life would no longer have sleep in it.

Though, he certainly wasn’t alone anymore.

Maybe.. maybe this was alright.

…

Another night of zero sleep, and Joel would like to formally amend his previous statement. IT WAS NOT ALRIGHT. ARGRHAGGRGGAGHGAH

***

this is a one shot that is part of an ongoing series, most of which isn’t posted on tumblr. If you would like to know what the hell is going on with… everyone (+ the server), you can find it here!

#I’ve never watched a Joel video lol #did I do it #trafficfic #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #life series fic #life series smp #trafficblr #third life #rendog #renthedog #inthelittlewood #martyn inthelittlewood #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian

[canarydarity]

Tango hadn’t quite yet wrapped his mind around the fact that he was here. Having done it now three times before didn’t make starting over any easier, didn’t make the game any less terrifying. He tried not to let his eyes stray to the timer perpetually counting down in the corner of his vision, but it didn’t matter—each beat of his heart was a second, and his pulse was keeping time even if he was trying not to. 

Tango thrust the shovel back into the ground, the dirt on their island moist and clumpy instead of crumbling and dry, and resolutely ignored the reminder that this game—like all the others—would likely end with him fertilizing this very ground. He wasn’t really expecting to win. Tango had no idea why it was that he was here. 

“Oh, it’s Joel!” Etho called from the other end of their small patch of land, and the call sounded like a warning. At first, Tango was thinking about how you almost wouldn’t believe the two had been soulmates last time, but as he thought about it, he changed his mind; what is a soulmate but he who knows and understands you best of all? If Etho’s call was a warning, it was because he knew Joel demanded one. 

He hadn’t looked up, but the waves made by Etho’s boat washed further up the shore toward the ground Tango was terraforming, and he shuffled a step or two to the side in distaste. He hated the water; it always made him feel…extinguished. 

“I can’t believe you’ve replaced me with a cow, Etho!” 

Tango snorted. No offense to Joel, but he could. It was probably more telling of Etho though than his spurned ex-soulmate. 

Tango pulled his shovel out of the ground, tossing its contents off to the side. He primed to dig into the ground again.

“Hey guys, are you setting up here, by the way?”

He stopped. Tango knew that voice—he spent weeks obtaining fluency in its passive anxiety, in the undertones of worry about doing something wrong. 

He had no trouble finding Jimmy; Tango simply looked up and he was there, one hand in his pocket, the other scratching the back of his neck like he did when he was feeling unsure. His face was scrunched in a kind of wince and his eyes shifty, but this too was not unusual for him. The familiarity hit Tango like a truck—no, that wasn’t enough. What hit harder than a truck?

He hadn’t seen Jimmy since…

Since when? Since they’d watched Scar get eaten by zombies? Since they got separated in the commotion of having succeeded in leveling the playing field of green names and changing targets? Since whatever last brush of shoulders or arms or hands occurred before he fell to his knees, alone, on the doorstep of the boat Joel and Etho argued over now only a few feet away?

“Cause…we’re the bad boys and we were gonna set up here.” Jimmy finished awkwardly, trying to sound firm and falling flat; the phrase came off like it was said by a kid who was threatening you with a toy sword but acting like he could use it to deal you some good damage. 

Tango raised an eyebrow; it took him only a second later to realize that he was smiling (he wondered when that had started). Bad boys, huh? One guess as to where that name came from—but Tango couldn’t let his gaze stray from Jimmy to lay eyes on Joel; he heard him and Etho bickering in the background, but it breached not a thought in Tango’s mind. 

He wanted to laugh, or—no, he wanted to play scared; he wanted to double over and fake being in pain like anyone should do when pretend stabbed by a kid playing with things he couldn’t understand. 

But Joel was still yelling and Etho was still taunting, and the division between this little island and the hill across the water was clear. Tango dropped his shovel and wiped his hands off on his pants so he didn’t do anything stupider.

Skizz and Impulse giggled and laughed about Jimmy’s claims, but Jimmy seemed none the wiser; stopping to place a furnace and quickly cook some steak; glancing over his shoulder, glancing at those on the island, glancing at Joel. These games always made him jumpy, Tango knew that. 

Tango hadn’t looked away, which was how he knew Jimmy’s gaze didn’t land on him once. 

It was Etho that caught his attention at last. “No! Don’t you dare…”

Tango scrambled up the slant he was working on to see Etho on the other side rowing away, cow in tow, and Joel smirking on the edge of the sand, arrow notched. There was not a second more of observation before he let it fly and it made its mark. 

Tango whined at the loss; of course, Joel had no way of knowing just how hard a time they’d been having with their bovine friends, but even if he had, he’d likely just have laughed. 

“YES!” he heard Joel scream, jumping around in the sand; a sore-winner he definitely was. 

Tango was already skidding down the side of their island and into the water when Joel shouted again, “Jimmy, run!”

He heard his soulmates cry of “wait wait wait!” but wasted no glance backward as he climbed up onto the mainland, shaking water out of his hair as he did; steam evaporated off of him as droplets flew. 

“Hey!” Tango shouted after Joel, though he clearly only had eyes for antagonizing Etho. “that took us 30 minutes to find!” 

Tango was knocked over from behind before he got the chance to see if he’d managed to get through to Joel at all (this was probably for the best, as he definitely hadn’t). He felt the fine gravel of the sand dig into his palms where he caught himself, but he barely registered the tick of damage from the shove and subsequent collapse; not like he felt it from the realization of who it had come from.  

Eyes wide and blinking like he couldn’t believe what it was he’d done either, there was Jimmy, only a few feet away. His chest heaved from the running, but he was otherwise still, half turned towards where Tango kneeled on the ground, half turned towards where Joel was running off into the woods. 

Neither of them looked away. Tango felt his health regenerate, but he didn’t think he believed it. Sure, he was at full hearts, but then why did he feel like the sand beneath him was shifting and making space for his burial; had Grian coded in some sort of quicksand?

Tango used their hesitation to process the fact that this hit hadn’t harmed them both; he knew logically that it shouldn’t have, but the experience was something else entirely; the feeling somewhat akin to grief.

“C'mon, Jimmy,” fell out of the trees to which Jimmy’s back was turned, and Tango watched him tense as the sound reached them both. Also behind him and to their right was Etho climbing out of his boat, feet touching down on the shore, path ahead pre-determined. 

Jimmy broke their eye contact only to close his eyes, and when he opened them again he swallowed and said “sorry, rancher,” feet beginning to backpedal. It was quiet enough that Tango could believe it just for him, and that implication of not wanting anyone else to hear shoveled the last of the dirt on Tango’s corpse, surely, it had to. Jimmy didn’t turn away—not until he stumbled and absolutely had to, not being able to risk the danger of walking backwards anymore. 

Tango rubbed his hands on his pants, feeling the sand and stray pebbles peel themselves from the indents they’d created in his palms upon impact, scrambling to his feet to follow. He bent only to scoop up a rock on his way. 

Even just inside the first row of trees, the forest was a different place entirely. The beach fell away, but the scene change didn’t do anything to turn the tide of their circumstances. Tango stopped just behind Etho, caught up just in time to hear:

“Everything precious you have in this series, Joel, it’ll be taken from you, you understand?”

Joel didn’t look concerned. He was still smirking, still playing up the part of the bitter ex (and seemingly getting too much enjoyment out of it, for Tango's liking). It was just like Joel to enjoy the breakup more than the relationship. 

Jimmy was further away, half behind Joel and resolutely avoiding looking in Tango’s direction; he was always hiding behind things he was taller than. Tango remembered when Jimmy’s go-to source of cover used to be him. 

Joel just rolled his eyes, a scoff his only response. He placed both hands on Jimmy and pushed, jumpstarting him into moving. Tango somehow managed to resist the urge to narrow his eyes further. He dropped the rock he was holding—he felt stupid for grabbing it now; it wasn’t like he was going to throw it; it wasn’t like he was capable. 

Bad boys they’d said; the Jimmy that Tango remembered had been kind. Maybe he had to rework his definition of a soulmate; he didn’t think he wanted to. 

Etho turned too, having done what he’d intended. Tango felt more so than saw Etho pat him on the shoulder as he passed. He didn’t need to look at his timer to know that not even 3 minutes had passed. 

“Yeah, I’m with you, Etho,” he said—but he was still staring off into the trees. He watched until Joel and Jimmy had woven too far into them to be visible anymore, but Jimmy didn’t turn back once.

#hey guys i havent thought about anything besides jimmy hitting tango for days hahaha #happy belated gay minecraft birthday to me amiright #worm writes #limited life spoilers #limited life #limited life fic #team rancher #boat boys #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #tangotek #tango tek #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #etho #ethoslab #team rancher fic #life series fic

[sixteenth-days]

From the Archives Masterpost: Updated AGAIN

so yeah it's been a BIT since i made a new masterpost, and there has been so much since then. so let's do this again from the top!

The art masterpost is now here, I had to put it in a Google Doc because it hit a limit for links.

THE MAIN FIC SERIES:

Test Recording: One, Two, Three: The newly hired Archivist familiarizes himself with his office.

The Statue Garden: Statement of Cleo, regarding a book of statuary.

Werewolf Games: Statement of Scott, regarding a camping trip and a disappearance.

End Condition: Statement of Scar, regarding his death.

Elephant's Foot: Statement of Zedaph(?), regarding a mousehole in the wall of his lab.

Stargazer: Statement of Pearl, regarding her dreams.

The Anniversary: Statement of Lizzie, regarding a wolf in the woods.

Blight: Statement of Shubble, regarding a disease in her family's crops.

The Not Deer: Statement of False, regarding the disappearance of her roommate, Gem.

The Joe Hills Podcast: Statement of Joe Hills, regarding his own backstory.

Slumber Party: Statement of the collected Archival staff, regarding a night spent in the Archives.

Supplemental: Moonsick: Supplemental audio to Slumber Party, recorded by Pearl, never archived.

The Art of Escape: Statement of Ivory, regarding an escape from solitary confinement.

Red Light, Green Light: Statement of Grian, regarding the deaths of twelve people in an incident that never happened.

Skittering Things: Statement of Stress, regarding a bug.

Assorted Supplemental Recordings: A collection of bonus recordings appended to formal statement files.

Research Questions: Statement of Impulse, regarding an encounter with the entity known as Zedaph.

Immersive Storytelling: Statement of Ren, regarding an ARG.

The Wastes: Statement of Cub, regarding a book of poetry.

Golden Eagle: Statement of HBomb, regarding the actions of his friend False during a group tag game.

Ornithology: Statement of Grian, regarding... feathers.

Supplemental: PTO: Supplemental audio to Ornithology, recorded by nobody in particular, never archived.

Camera Obscura: Statement of Martyn, regarding something that was watching him.

Concerns from the Academic Record of Mr. Tango Tek: Statement of a professor of architectural design, regarding his concerns about a particular student.

Freezing Point: Statement of Scott, regarding a problem with his house's heating.

Gelatinization: Statement of Jevin, regarding a cookbook.

The Vigil: Statement of an unknown traveler, regarding a monument in the desert.

The Vital Importance of a Good Night's Sleep: Statement of Bdubs, regarding his problems sleeping.

Deckbuilding Basics: Statement of unnamed, regarding an encounter with Beef, a trading card collector.

Ad Astra: Statement of Grian, regarding a visit to a certain library.

OTHER FICS NOT IN THE MAIN SERIES:

Interlude from Another Reality: Taxidermy: A pair of scenes in a timeline where Joe's the Archivist, and everybody else is shuffled around too.

mouse hole/black hole: A character study of AU Zedaph, making heavy use of formatting fuckery.

Beautiful Things: Likewise, a character study of AU Stress.

#the hermit archives #hermitcraft #my writing #hermitcraft fic #life series fic #empires smp fic #masterpost

[cacowhistle]

everything, everything

fandom: hermitcraft/life series smps relationships: grian/scar wc: 2255

written for @salemoleander for the @mcytblrholidayexchange!!

read it on ao3 or below the cut!

Season Nine is ending. It’s a little sad, Scar will admit. He’s grown so used to these surroundings, and the memories within them. He’s familiar—intimate, even—with the way the hills roll and the buildings and monuments rise above the horizon. And right now, familiarity is important. At least, it is for him.

Secret Life ended with a bang, and Scar woke up with his heart pounding and the feeling of blood beneath his fingernails. He woke up safe and secure in bed, like nothing had ever happened. The only sign of it was a few new scars to his name, and the memories burned into the back of his mind. The memories that he had lost, for a while there, before his victory. He threw himself into work, for about a week, but time is running thin and he doesn’t have the time or materials to dedicate to another project, and there’s only so many hermits around, and—

Well, one thing at a time. Scar breathes in deep, grip tightening on his cane. He just needs… something. A distraction, for now.

He’s sorting out the whole death game thing at his own pace. Pearl had messaged him a day after they’d all gotten back to offer him a shoulder to lean on. It sort of stung a bit that Grian didn’t extend a hand, too.

Scar had taken Pearl up on that offer, though. They’d talked. He had a little bit better of an understanding than he’d had before. But now…

Scar shivers, an involuntary thing. Ugh. Distraction. He pulls up his comm with one smooth motion, eyes narrowing as he checks to see who’s online. Quite a few names come up—the last week of the server is upon them, after all—but his attention is caught by one in particular. One he, of course, was going to be drawn to. Grian is online, and Scar knows he doesn’t have many last-minute projects to be working on. Maybe he can wrangle the pesky thing into helping him with something small. It would be nice to at least ease back into talking about regular things again.

Though Grian would loathe to admit it, Scar is certain that he’s missed hanging out. And… well, of course Scar has missed him. They’re still friends. (Maybe more than that.) Mysterious entities beyond his understanding aside, Scar still cares about Grian. Even when Grian… creates a death game to appease some—not godlike, he’s not a god, Pearl had been very adamant about that, but… some kind of. Need, almost? He needs to stop thinking about it, before he gets too confused again. It was hard enough to parse the first time Pearl explained it all to him. Maybe he’ll ask Grian to explain it again, from his own point of view. Not now, of course, it’s far too soon for that, but… maybe once they’ve settled into the next season. For now, Scar flicks open his elytra, typing away on his comm.

> GoodTimeWithScar: Hey G where are you?

> Grian: base

> Grian: whats up

Shoot. He could’ve checked there without asking in chat. Now Grian will be expecting him. What if he’d wanted to prank him? Stupid. Scar checks his inventory for any goat horns, or anything else he can use. He’s got one, but he doesn’t know what sound it’ll make. A few eggs sit beside it. He’s… not sure where those came from. Maybe he can throw them at Grian from above?

Well, now he’s just stalling. Scar throws himself into the air, letting his cane drop into his inventory. The elytra do most of the work for him, carrying him along through the sky. He’s gotten much better at controlling them, though, and the skill shines through as he does a few loops around Scarland, just for himself. He has plans, however, and so he soars over the exit, pitching upwards and landing on one of the boulders that make up Grian’s base. The bird is somewhere around here, Scar thinks as he braces himself against the stone. He just has to find him.

It’s not that hard, all things considered. His feathers stand out, bright and colorful, against the earthy tones of his base.

Scar grins, snatching up an egg from his inventory, holding the goat horn with his other hand. He pushes off from the rock, gliding down toward Grian, who keeps looking down at his comm, none-the-wiser.

It is so, so easy to crack the egg and drop it on Grian’s head. At the same time, Scar blows into the horn, and the sound echoes, reverberates in his bones. Even from here, Scar can see Grian’s feathers all stand on end, and then his shoulders hike up to his ears as the raw egg lands in his hair. He yells—wordless and disgusted, shivering and shaking the egg out of his hair, feathers ruffling with displeasure as Scar cackles, quickening his descent.

“Scar!” Grian shouts up at him, scowling good-naturedly. “What is wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t me!” Scar lands in the grass a few feet away, pulling his cane out of his inventory to balance himself. “It was Poultry Man. You know how his tricks are.”

Grian wipes some more egg off of his shoulder, grimacing as he does so. “You know full well it was not.”

Scar shrugs. “I guess it’ll just be a mystery, then.”

“Right.” Grian flicks the last of the egg from his fingers. “Was that all you wanted to do, then?”

Well, shoot. He didn’t think this far ahead. Scar reaches for any idea, any project he needs help with—and comes up fairly empty. “Uh,” he says, floundering, “well, no, you see, I wanted to—or, well, I thought maybe you could—we could—”

Grian raises his eyebrows, looking more than a little confused.

“—hang out, or something,” Scar finishes lamely.

“Or something,” Grian repeats, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course!” Scar smiles. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

They both know the answer to that. Scar looks at Grian, all wide-eyed and nervous, and Grian just stares back, eyes flat. Scar fidgets with his cane, finally averting his eyes.

“If this is about the games,” Grian starts, voice gone somber, “I—I understand if you have some words for me. If you’re upset with me.”

Scar looks up, startled. “Why would I be upset with you, G?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Grian echoes, eyes wide. “Scar, I made you and our friends fight to the death for weeks. I’ve done it multiple times. And you—you know all that, now. You remember it all.”

He glances away, tucking his hands into his pockets. His wings fidget against his back. “You remember the win, and the losses, too.”

The sun blazes down and Scar sees sand and red behind his eyes when he closes them. It had hurt, to leave Grian on his own—to give his life and let him win, to abandon any chance of a happy, red life together, just the two of them—domestic and devoted in the desert. He does remember, now, nights shared in the same bed, feathers between his fingers and warmth against his back. It had hurt more when Grian had left him. He hadn’t known why it hurt, at the time, when Last Life began and any hope of companionship died that first night. And then Double Life—

Scar’s grip tightens on his cane. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out tenser than he’d have liked. “Yeah, I remember. But G—”

“You’re upset,” Grian says, miserably, “it’s okay, Scar. I deserve it.”

“I’m a little upset,” Scar admits, “but I missed you, Grian. I’m not mad at you.”

They stand there for a few moments, quiet settling over them like a heavy, tense shroud. Scar shifts his weight from foot to foot, before clearing his throat. “I’m not, really. I just—I want to understand why.”

Why Grian had done any of it. The games, the desert—why he had stayed by Scar’s side even after he died the first time, when he didn’t have to at all. Why he’d refused to do so afterwards, why he left him in the cold on the mountain by his lonesome. Why he’d been so angry about being tied to him, why he’d fled and made new friends and a new home in the arms of other men—

Okay, he’s a little mad. Maybe. “Why’d you leave?”

Grian seems to freeze, wings stilling against his back. He looks up at Scar with wide eyes. “What?”

“Why,” Scar repeats, slowly, “did you leave, G? I would’ve stayed by you.”

“Well, I’m not you,” Grian retorts, pulling away. “And if you were really in my position I think you would’ve understood why. Just because you finally won doesn’t mean you get it, Scar.”

“Okay, so explain it to me.” Scar spreads his hands out, palms up, fingers outstretched. “What don’t I get? It feels a little bit like I’m being stabbed in the back, here, G. We had something in that desert, and you know it. So why did you abandon it that fast?”

“Because I didn’t want to have to kill you again!”

It comes out sharp and biting, like talons piercing flesh. Scar flinches back from the outburst, Grian’s wings splaying wide, feathers all puffed up. He stares up at Scar, looking more earnest and angry and heartbroken than Scar’s ever seen him. He steps forward, jabbing a finger into Scar’s chest.

“You try being in that position,” he bites out, “having to kill the man you love, and then just act like it never happened. Would you want to just do that all over again? Do all that grief again? I didn’t want to watch you die again, Scar. But yeah, sorry that you missed me, even though we saw each other all the time.”

“Just like you saw Joel and Tim all the time,” Scar mutters.

Grian’s feathers ruffle. “Excuse me?”

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. Go on.”

“We aren’t even together, Scar,” Grian says, eyes narrowing. “You cannot hold them against me when we aren’t even in a relationship.”

To be fair, he’s not wrong. Scar isn’t even really upset about that, truth be told. It just—well, he’s just feeling petty, he supposes. He shrugs, leaning in a bit. Grian leans back.

“Well,” Scar says, “do you want to be?”

He says it slow and sly, in that way that makes Grian shiver. He’ll admit: he sort of likes this. Even when they’re arguing, he can still find a way to make Grian speechless, and it seems he’s just hit the bullseye. Grian flounders, mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment, before he finally squawks out a response.

“You are ridiculous,” he gasps.

Scar grins, cocking an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a no?”

Grian splutters again, before throwing his hands up. “Yes, I want to be with you, Scar. What is wrong with you?”

He pulls Grian into a hug. Grian tenses, just for a moment, before relaxing into it with a sigh. Scar threads fingers between feathers, resting his chin on top of Grian’s head, staring beyond him at grass and moss and stone. He just holds him, for a minute, closing his eyes.

“I’m not upset,” he says, quietly, “about the death games. I know there’s something more complicated going on, and I don’t really understand it, but there’s a reason you do it. And I trust you, G. And sometimes, it’s actually kinda fun.”

Grian sighs into his shirt, leaning his cheek against Scar’s chest. “But,” Scar continues, “I am upset that you didn’t talk to me. That you didn’t try to keep us going. I—I think I get why you didn’t want to, but now…”

“We both remember,” Grian finishes, quiet. “So it’s less stakes when we get into a game.”

“You can team up with whoever,” Scar says. “I don’t really care about that. It’s good to hang out with other people. I just—want to know, I guess, that under all of that, there’s still us.”

“There’s always gonna be us.” Grian pulls back, looking up at Scar. “I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. I just—I get scared, Scar, that I’m going to bring you down, or…”

“We kill each other all the time on Hermitcraft.” Scar shrugs. “Sometimes you just have to kill your friends dramatically.”

“I suppose it’s less harrowing when you know you’re just going to wake up on-server again,” Grian muses. Scar grins, letting his arms rest on Grian’s shoulders.

“Exactly,” he says.

“And you want this,” Grian says, running a hand along Scar’s arm. “Like, you really, truly want this. You want…” he swallows, not looking Scar in the eye.

“Whatever you want to give me,” Scar murmurs, low and sultry in Grian’s ear.

He snorts, swatting at Scar’s chest. “Stop that. I’m trying to be serious.”

“That was serious,” he protests.

Grian just giggles, leaning against him again. Scar looks down at him, running fingers through his hair. Grian gazes back at him with wide eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts, shifting in Scar’s arms.

Scar grins. “God,” he says, “please. I was waiting for you to ask.”

(It’s everything he was hoping it would be and more. When he wakes up the next morning, there’s feathers in his face and warmth pressed against his chest. It’s everything, everything, everything.

And it only gets better from there.)

#mcytblr holiday exchange #mcytblr holiday exchange 2023 #desert duo #scarian #goodtimeswithscar #grian #life series fanfic #life series fic #life series fanfiction #my writing

[moo9395]

Martyn/ Jimmy/ Scott/ Tango - ship fic

For @entropicthymes as part of the @mcytblrholidayexchange​

It was new years eve and Martyn, Scott, Jimmy, and Tango were all sitting in their living room watching the end of something on the TV.

Scott was lying on the sofa with his feet in Jimmy’s lap idly flicking through a magazine. Leant up against the sofa between Jimmy's knees was Tango with Martyns head lying in his lap as the former absentmindedly combed his fingers through the latters hair. 

As the programme came to an end Scott tossed his magazine onto the coffee table and moved to get up. 

“I’m going to pop the kettle on” He said as he stretched and ran a hand through his hair.

Tango shuffled Martyns head off, ignoring his protests, and stood up to help Scott.

Seeing as his pillow had gone, Martyn stood up and plonked himself down on the sofa next to Jimmy.

Said pillow then reappeared, popping his head round the door to ask who wanted tea.

Jimmy and Martyn answered simultaneously with a polite “Me please” to Tango rolled his eyes fondly. 

In a few minutes Scott returned with a tray of mugs in his hands which he gently placed on the coffee table before squashing himself between Jimmy and Martyn.

“Room for a little one?” Tango asked, grinning.

Jimmy shifted up pushing the other two with him “Always room for you”. 

“Are we doing presents then?” Martyn inquired, hands wrapped around his warm mug.

Jimmy bobbed excitedly causing Tango to squeak in alarm and Scott to nearly spill his tea.

“Sorry” he babbled apologetically as Martyn laughed. 

Once Jimmy had stopped apologising, Martyn stood up and made his way over to the ‘certainly not over decorated’ Christmas tree (Scott had been in charge) and began pulling out the gifts underneath. 

“Right, who wants to go first?” he asked, settling himself down cross legged on the floor, four wrapped gifts beside him. 

“Lets just go in a circle” Jimmy answered “Start with Tango and end with Martyn” 

“Alright sounds good to me” Scott added as the others hummed in approval. 

Martyn turned to his pile of presents and ruffled through a few labels before handing a soft, flopping looking package to Tango. 

The blaze-born flipped the tag over which read ‘To Tango, from your secret santa x’. 

He then carefully unwrapped the present.

“Wow,” he murmured, holding up a knitted sweater decorated with intricate designs and patterns in shades of red, orange and yellow. 

“Do you like it?” Martyn asked nervously.

“Well that's sort of given away the ‘Secret Santa’ aspect of this but oh well” Jimmy said under his breath.

Tango ignored him “It’s gorgeous Martyn,” he replied, still staring at the gift “Where did you get it?”

Martyn mumbled something under his breath as his cheeks flushed and he began to play with the carpet.

“You what?” Scott inquired curiously.

“I made it” Martyn answered, cheeks flushing even further as he glanced up grinning at the looks of shock on his partner's faces. 

The three of them just stared open mouthed at him until Jimmy broke the silence “I didn’t know you could knit”

Martyn smirked “Well a mans gotta have some secrets doesn’t he?” he answered, recovering some of his usual bravado. 

“Well sure but you don’t usually expect the secret to be world class knitting skills do you?” Tango added smiling fondly as any bravado Martyn had managed to claw back vanished in the blushing mess.

“Alright who’s next” Scott asked loudly pulling Martyn back to reality “Right yeah, Jimmy” he babbled handing Jimmy a package.

Jimmy tore off the wrapping rather unceremoniously and pulled out a large blanket.

It was cream with tassels at each end and covered in colourfully embroidered flowers.

Jimmy squealed (it was a very manly squeal) in delight as he ran his fingers over each design.

“Happy new year” Scott giggled and Jimmy leapt on him pressing kisses to whatever he could reach.

“Alright let him breathe” Tango chided but his smile was evident in his voice.

Jimmy pulled back still beaming and went back to examining the poppies, carnations, bluebells and other flowers that Scott had expertly sewn into the blanket.

Scott accepts the package from Martyn with a polite “thank you love” and a peck on the cheek.

It’s smaller than the others but Scott knows size is no guarantee of worth (Minds out the gutter please) as he carefully undoes the bow and slowly peels back the wrapping.

“It’s like watching a strip tease” Martyn quips, the comment earning a stifled laugh from Jimmy and a glare from Scott who tosses the wrapping paper at him.

Having finally unwrapped the gift Scott is now holding a small box, he removes the lid and peeling back the layers of golden tissue paper pulls out a pair of earrings.

“Oh they’re gorgeous” he exclaims holding up one of the pairs, it's long and dangling with four large crystals connected by rows of tiny clear beads. 

“There’s a crystal to show each of us” Tango explained, he was too excited to care about giving himself away.

Scott inspected the gems further, he was familiar with gemstones and recognised each, a chunk of yellow jasper for Jimmy, a piece of prehnite for Martyn, a bit of red sunstone for Tango, and a segment of amazonite for him.

“Are you crying?” Jimmy asked amused.

Scott sniffed “Mind your own business” the others laughed and Tango reached out a warm hand and ruffled Scott's hair.

Once Scott had recovered himself it was Martyns turn. 

“I wonder who this could be from” the blond said, lifting his gift into the air and shaking it with mock confusion.

Jimmy rolled his eyes affectionately “Just open it”.

Martyn pulled the red ribbon of the small (and surprisingly neatly wrapped) box, before pulling off the wrapping.

Underneath the holly covered wrapping paper was a velvet box, Martyn gently lifted the hinged lid to reveal a small, ornate ring.

After lifting the ring out of its box he rotated it with his fingers examining the finely carved lettering.

“It’s all of our initials and our anniversary” Jimmy said with flushed cheeks “I know it's similar to Tango’s.. I didn’t mean to.. obviously.. I didn’t know-”

Martyn cut him off with a peck on the lips “It’s lovely Jim, thank you”.

Jimmy beamed, obviously delighted before pulling Martyn unceremoniously down onto the sofa.

Scott and Tango sat laughing at Martyn’s muffled protests to being suffocated in feathers. 

—————

After a couple games of Mario Party, Jimmy leapt up from the sofa “The fireworks are starting!” he cheered as he ran over to the window peering out into the dark.

Scott and Martyn heaved themselves up to go and look, Martyn opening the window as he reached it.

The sound of fireworks filled the small apartment along with the small shrieks of excitement from a certain canary.

“Jimmy you’re getting feathers in my mouth again” Martyn muttered, pushing yellow wings out of his face. 

Then he paused as he heard a soft whimper behind him “Tango?” he whispered as he turned.

Tango was crouched in the corner of the room, back to the wall and hands clamped over his ears.

Martyn rushed over to him, noticing his sudden absence Scott and Jimmy also turned. 

Martyn crouched down beside his boyfriend whose eyes were screwed up and his hands were still clamped over his ears.

“I think it's the noise” Scott muttered gently, noticing the blazeborns tail flicking agitatedly.  

Jimmy shot up and tripped over himself in his hurry to close the window.

The sound of fireworks was muffled, for good measure Jimmy closed the curtains before returning to his boyfriends.   

“Tango sweetie, can you hear me?” Scott probed softly but the blaze-born didn’t even acknowledge the statement.

“We need to ground him” Jimmy whispered as he gently began tracing patterns in his partner's folded knees.

Martyn and Scott followed his example; Scott rubbing smooth circles in the blond's back and Martyn opting for gently playing with his hair.

After a few moments Tango's breathing relaxed, his hands moved away from his ears and his eyes fluttered open.

“Hello sunshine” Martyn breathed lightly “Are you feeling better?”.

Tango nodded shyly before rasping out a small “thank you”.

The three of them smiled softly before Jimmy stood “Come on let’s go back to the sofa”.

The others murmured in agreement as the canary pulled them to their feet. 

They all settled down on the sofa and Scott grabbed a soft blanket placing it over them, Jimmy reaching over to grab his blanket and placing it on top. 

Martyn switched the TV and put on big hero six before settling back to playing with Tangos hair.

Jimmy was lying curled across the blaze-borns lap and the latter was gently preening his wings.

Scott had his head on Martyns shoulder gently tracing stars onto the shorter man’s thigh.

Eventually Jimmy dropped off to sleep and was soon followed by Tango. 

Martyn stopped playing with his hair after a few moments and turned his head to look down at Scott before reaching his hand round to stroke the younger’s cheek.

“Happy new year” He murmured softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

A smaller hand found his own as Scott gently ran his thumb across Martyn’s fingers “Happy new year”.

#life series #traffic smp #jimmy solidarity #trafficblr #martyn littlewood #traffic series #tangotek #scott smajor #life series fic #tango/ jimmy/ Scott/ martyn #new years #gift giving #traffic shipping #fluff #mild hurt/comfort #panic attack #fireworks #tangotek blaze hybrid #jimmy solidarity canary hybrid #domestic fluff #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #mcytblrholidayexchange2023

[theverywest]

SECRET LIFE FIC BELOW THE CUT, CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THE LAST SESSION

I wanted to write a fic about scar winning and how HE DIDNT DIE AT THE END and some way that links to my fave girl ever lizzie ldshadowlady. Enjoy!

A lone wandering trader sits, legs out, hands bloody, with his back to a button labeled "succeed". The moonlight shines down as a light breeze passes by. And he waits. For something. Anything. But the night is still. Only the shadow of the Secret Keeper, looming in the twilight, disrupts the strange sense of calm that has settled on his shoulders. Scar has never won a game before. His first, killed by an ally who deemed them tied. His second, shot while alone in a battle he was doomed to lose. His third, killed by being tied to another. His fourth, taken down by an old friend. And now. Alone. And a winner. The lone wanderer observes as the full moon makes its way across the sky, his only movement a gentle tap tap tap on the top of his discarded final task. Win secret life. A final goal, normally unspoken. But win he did. The wanderer thinks about getting up, and moving to somewhere more comfortable - but the Secret Keeper is well lit, and he has yet to rest after such an eventful day. So he lets sleep take him.

A young woman falls, hands out, heart heavy, her hair flowing around her face. The bright pink of it stands out brightly against the ever consuming void. And she waits. For something. Anything. But the void is still. Only her thoughts are there to keep her company, with no noise to be heard other than her scattered breathing. Lizzie has never won a game before, and now she never will. Doomed to fall for eternity, not alive but not dead. The first out thinks to herself, as she tries to sleep and pass the time. She tries to recall her friends' names. But the void is unforgiving and she can only remember a few. She is an anomaly, she knows. Strange. Alone. But not quite, though she doesn't know that. Not yet. 

The sun rises and the wanderer stirs. Then, he does what he's done everyday for the past however long. He stands up, stretches and insists, to those who watch - Today, we're gonna make some friends.

There is no sunrise. The void is unchanging. But the first out smiles all the same, as she hears a call for the first time in weeks, months, years. Yes, she thinks, today would be a good day for some friends. 

#secret life smp #secret life #secret life spoilers #the life series #goodtimeswithscar #lizzie ldshadowlady #AHHHHH #not bad for my first fic #if i do say so myself #i was gonna go full angst mode but couldn't bring myself too #might expand on this if i can motivate myself too #anyway i will never be normal about them #the sillies #life series fic #secret life fic

[waveridden]

Doing set lighting for a reality competition isn’t exactly the most interesting job, or at least not the most interesting lighting job. Martyn’s in it for three things: the snacks, the paychecks, and the people-watching.

Or: a reality TV meet-cute. 1.7k, for @treebarkweek day two: sweet.

#treebark #treebarkweek #treebarkweek2024 #trafficshipping #trafficblr #life series #mcyt fic #life series fic #yeah i'm not up for extensive tagging. calling it there #waveridden.fic #listen sometimes. you just want to write a romcom

[salemoleander]

For he to whom a watcher's doom   Is given as his task, Must set a lock upon his lips,   And make his face a mask. Or else he might be moved, and try   To comfort or console: And what should Human Pity do   Pent up in Murderers' Hole?

The Ballad of Reading Gaol | Oscar Wilde

Martyn looks at the ground. If he looks at the sky, he'll see-

judgmental remnants of friends / wisps of cloud sailing by / an endless sea of eyes / theater curtains drenched in blood / stars beginning to come out / his own clock, numbers in freefall

So he looks at the grass. The smell of charred flesh hangs on the air, disturbingly close to the steak they'd all been sharing.

He won. Is the thing.

And now Martyn's not sure what he's meant to do with that, with this clawing nauseous sense of victory. With the silence. The feeling of a trap kill elevated to a million, because he pulled off a betrayal none of those bastards would've ever tried to pull.

Except maybe Grian, but Grian never knew when the time was right to drop the act - too used to driving the knife to have access to many unsuspecting backs anymore. Martyn clicks his tongue, remembering Scar's naïveté earlier in the day.

"Fool me twice," he mutters, voice still too loud for a world gone quiet.

Martyn glances across the arena at Scott's armor. It lies abandoned on the ground, grass torn up and marshy from spilled water and blood. He considers the phrase 'a fair fight'.

Rightfully, Scott won- rightfully, he'd been the winner for the entire episode. They'd all been walking dead. Scott was just egregiously better than most of them at PVP. The only reason he'd even been at 4 hours was due to constant, benevolent deaths to allies.

The idea of being handed a win, of Scott letting him win, was repulsive. Incredibly patronizing, really. Martyn has a great deal of respect for Pearl - if Scott had pulled that stunt with him in Double Life, pulled away the chance to prove his victory in any way that mattered- Well. He'd have hunted him down here immediately, Green Life or not.

And how unfair, that everyone else had to claw and bite and scratch for victory. Alone, afraid, hunted - and they would get to calmly fight as equals? Children, smacking at each other to see who would win a game?

No, that didn't interest him at all.

Winning used to mean something; it demanded everything from you. Somewhere along the line- between Scott refusing to Boogey kill and refusing to fight Pearl and refusing to kill him and Impulse, refusing refusing refusing, like this is something you can just turn down like a bad fucking potato-

Winning this game is going to matter again. And if the only thing he has left to pay that cost is friendship, well. Grian paid just as much; and- his lips curl- he's just seen what friendship gets you.

Martyn cranes his head back to smile coldly up at the sky, and the sky strikes down to meet him.

#limited life #limited life spoilers #24lsmp #24lsmp spoilers #fic #traffic life spoilers #traffic fic #life series spoilers #life series fic #salem tag #martyn #i think this is as close to canon as ive ever strayed bc im trying to think through the thought process from a character standpoint #anyways. been hanging onto those lines of reading gaol for a while lmao glad i found a use for them #salem fic

[intrawebs]

Ancient History

[ao3 link]

As Martyn landed on the cherry leaf floor, he cackled in a way Ren had never heard. It was cruel and cold and barely a laugh at all. In this foreign body, Ren’s hearing felt permanently muffled, yet that laugh grated like nothing ever before.

Martyn looked different now. He had floppy dog’s ears and a long tail, his smile an excuse to show off sharpened teeth, sword drawn and crouched low as he circled Ren. Martyn’s eyes were a mix of anger and victory.

He looked like the Red King.

Ren tried not to cry.

~~~

Scar remembered eons ago, falling in love. A man in a poncho, fingers covered with cookie crumbles, scream-laughing as three of his friends exploded into bloody bits.

Today, Scar’s eyes were locked onto that same man. Grian placed the third skull and jumped backwards. As electric blue lit up his features, and that same delirium appeared on his face, Scar thought he had never looked more beautiful.

#life series fic #scarian #treebark #trafficshipping #i would tag renchanting cause ik it can be read platonic #but i dont want martyn seeing this #martyn. if ur seeing this anyway make sure to like and reblog #celery writes #constructive critism welcome #my writing

[bidoofenergy]

5 fics under 500 kudos

inspired by @happiness-of-the-pursuit who started this in the red, white & royal blue fandom! in no particular order, here's 5 life series fics with less than 500 kudos that i think deserve ALL the love

More Powerful Than Fear Itself Is The Will To Win by @kyleknight

boat boys formula 1 AU! i know absolutely nothing about F1 but this had me on the edge of my seat absolutely entranced

Waiting For You by savannah_owl

i love a good daemon fic and this fic uses daemons to their fullest extent, giving such a good insight into scar and grian

Tangotek Evil Incorporated by @onawhimsicot

megamind-esq-supervillain tango saves superhero-with-a-sidekick-complex jimmy and it's hilarious the whole time

bright&fast by @canarydarity

best fucking tango ooh he's so tasty and tragic he's doomed and knows it and it's so good

Let Me Show You Everything I Know by @massivewaffle

there is very little i love more than a good college AU and this one has jimmy as a grad student and tango in engineering so it's basically perfect

no pressure tagging @canarydarity @some-sort-of-siren @massivewaffle @codes-and-stuffs @kyleknight @antimony-medusa and YOU 🫵🏽 if you're reading this i bet you know 5 fics that are absolutely incredible and need to be read more and so im tagging you to do this too

#life series #life series fanfic #life series fic #fic rec #third life #traffic series #trafficblr #did not intend for this to be 3/5ths au fest fics but like. so many incredible fics were written during au fest