#Traffic Light SMP fic
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But For This? Absolutely
Actually writing the Ranchers on a ranch for once after my soul was consumed by the superhero/villain AU for so long. What a novel idea /s
4.5k words
Part 2
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A crash, a curse, and a yowling cat jarred Jimmy out of his thoughts where he'd been staring into the middle distance, finally taking a break. A speckled shape shot across the porch and disappeared into the wheat fields.
"Jimmyyyyy! Revenge got out again! He's heading for the gorge!" Tango shouted from inside.
Jimmy wriggled out of his over-shirt to free up his movements. "On it!" he called back. He ran from his spot on the porch's bench toward the stairs, unfurling his wings as he did. He hit the uncovered part of the porch and hurled himself into the air. The wind rushed through his hair and the sun beat down on his yellow wings and shoulders his tank top left exposed.
He soared low, catching glimpses of the black-and-tan cat running through the wheat and trying to keep track. The gorge was fast approaching. Parts of it were too narrow for Jimmy’s wings and the river at the bottom was fast enough that Revenge wouldn’t survive if he fell in. Meaning Jimmy had to catch the cat before he reached the gorge.
He swooped, arms extended and entire body battered by the wheat.
But he snatched Revenge by the middle and shot into the air before wheeling and heading back for the ranch house—or that was the plan.
Before he could roll, he caught sight of something. Across the gorge, a dark outpost loomed. The nearest neighbors to the ranch and not friendly folk in the slightest.
Partway down the gorge’s steep slope just below the outpost was a small shape.
Even from his distance, he could see the distinct shape of Avian wings. One of them broken.
Jimmy looked down at the cat screeching and thrashing to get free. “Alright. Alright. Calm down. Geez.” He completed his roll and plummeted back toward the house. Tango was waiting on the second floor balcony. Jimmy landed and set Revenge down inside before shutting the door to keep him in.
“If that thing wasn’t so good at catching mice I would have found a new home for that nightmare by now,” Tango grumbled. Jimmy chuckled.
“He’s not so bad.”
“Sure. Whatever you say buddy.” Tango held out Jimmy’s over-shirt.
Jimmy shook his head. “I saw something in the gorge. I’m gonna go investigate. Be right back.”
“Take it anyway. Might need it.”
Jimmy took the shirt and tied it around his waist. “Be back soon.”
Tango smiled fondly. “I know.”
Jimmy launched off the balcony, blowing Tango’s fire hair backward in sputters. He pinwheeled and sailed back toward the gorge.
The winged figure hadn’t moved. Jimmy spiraled and peered down. The wings were small. Caught between juvenile down and proper plumage.
Jimmy twisted into a sharp dive and plunged downward. He flared his wings out to brake and landed near the small figure.
The child was lying in a crumpled heap on a ledge. Long hair tangled around the head. Jimmy couldn’t tell if the hair was blond or what for how dirty it was. The wings, too, were filthy. Feathers were clumped and a dull grey-tan that might have once been white. The child wore a torn shirt and shorts and was missing a shoe. Clutched in one hand was a ragged ravager plushie.
Jimmy approached slowly. “Are you alright?”
No response. Not even a shuffle. He finally noticed a small trickle of blood on the ledge.
He sprung into action. He wrapped the child's broken wing gently in his over-shirt and scooped them up. He hurled himself back into the sky, careful to hold their wings in such a way that he wouldn't crush bone or feathers, but so that they also wouldn't increase drag or get any more injured.
Tango was still waiting on the balcony when Jimmy returned. Revenge was having zoomies inside, visible through the windows and balcony door.
Tango's eyes widened as Jimmy rotated his body so he could land. "Tha—tha—tha—that's a child," he said.
Jimmy nodded. "One of their wings is broken. They were below the outpost on a ledge in the gorge."
"Oh my—" Tango breathed, unable to even complete the sentence. "What do we do?"
"I can reset the broken wing bone. Splint it. After that, maybe we do what we can to clean them up? I know how to clean wings. That hair is a disaster, and there's dirt everywhere. I just... I couldn't leave them there."
"No, no. I wouldn't have either. Let's get started, then." Tango reached out and brushed the hair away from the face, so they both could see. The child couldn't have been older than seven. Gender was more difficult to tell with children, but if Jimmy had to guess, he'd probably say they looked more girlish.
Tango opened the balcony door, snatched Revenge, and held the door open so Jimmy could carry the child inside. Revenge got put in his crate—temporarily—and the humanoids left their bedroom to go to the washroom.
"I'm going to clean the wings first," Jimmy said. "I don't want to reset the bone wrong and cause an infection due to dirty feathers."
Tango nodded, already filling a small bucket with water and grabbing a bar of soap. Jimmy set the child down in the bathtub so he could wash their wings a little easier, making sure they were lying securely on their side.
Tango passed him a sponge and his—freshly cleaned—preening brush. "Thanks," he said. Tango nodded.
Jimmy cleaned the child's wings methodically and slowly with the bucket and the soap and the sponge. The brush would be for later. He did his best not to jar the break, but the child didn't seem to react to anything. They were still alive—Tango obsessively checked for breathing every few minutes—but deeply unconscious.
Gunk, dirt, and dust washed off between the child's feathers with every pass of the sponge, washing down the drain. The icky grey gradually turned to white. Pristine and slightly shimmery. "Look how pretty these are," Jimmy whispered, admiring the feathers.
Tango didn't say anything, but a small smile appeared on his face. While he kept checking for breathing, he started to wash and tidy the child's hair as delicately as he could.
Before long, Jimmy had cleaned the mess off the child's wings and preened them both with oil from their preening glands and his brush. Once they were as cleaned as they could be, he carefully probed around the break. Grian had drilled wing care into his head when he first grew his, so even though Jimmy wasn't really medically trained, he knew how to care for a busted wing.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he whispered.
He reset the wing.
The child's eyes flew open and a scream filled the washroom.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay!" Jimmy said, reaching to rub the child's spine right between their wings—a calming spot for most Avians. "Tango, can you grab—"
"On it." Tango rushed out of the washroom.
The child was panting, eyes wide. They were deep blue. The child's hair, now that it had been cleaned and brushed by Tango, was as white as their wings.
Tango returned with sticks and string. "Here, here," he said.
Jimmy quickly constructed a splint for the broken wing. "There you go. You're okay. It's okay. My name's Jimmy. What's yours?" He gave the child a soft smile.
They blinked at him. "S... Skye," they said.
"Okay, Skye. Nice to meet you. Do your grownups use she, he, they, or something else for you?"
"Sh... she. B... but I... I don't have grownups anymore. Just... just the pillagers." She shuddered. "And the cage."
Tango's hair burst into flame. "I'm burning that damn outpost down," he muttered. "Keeping a child in a cage?"
"Not now Tango. You're scaring her," Jimmy whispered, watching the way Skye gasped and shrunk away from Tango.
Tango took a deep breath, the fire of his hair slowly burning down until it was just hair again. Jimmy kept comfortingly rubbing Skye's spine.
"It's okay. He's friendly. He won't hurt you. This is Tango. He's just mad that the pillagers put you in a cage," Jimmy said comfortingly. Tango gave the girl a small smile. "See? He's nice."
Skye shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing them.
"We're not going to hurt you, kiddo," Jimmy said. "We just want to help you. See? I'm like you." He unfurled his wings a tiny bit, flapping them a little to make the feathers flutter. Skye's deep blue eyes watched his wings. She almost smiled. "Can Tango help that little cut on your forehead?"
She eyed Tango warily. Then looked back at Jimmy. Then back to Tango. Then nodded.
Tango slowly extended his hand, thumb raised. He rested the pad of his thumb against the little cut. Yellow-gold magic swirled around his thumb and when he pulled away, the cut had scarred over. "Better?"
Skye nodded again. "Th-th-thank you," she said.
"Of course."
"Let's get you out of those damp clothes and into something comfy and warm, okay?" Jimmy asked.
Skye nodded.
Jimmy leaned back and snatched a towel, helping Skye wrap it around herself without hurting her wing, using his own to maintain his balance.
Tango left the washroom and returned with one of Jimmy's over-shirts. Jimmy took it from him and held it out for Skye. "We're gonna leave so you can change. This is gonna be a little long on you, but pretend it's a dress. It's got the holes in the back for your wings. We're gonna be nearby in case you need anything, okay? Just call out for us."
Skye carefully took the shirt and nodded.
Tango took Jimmy's hand and led the way out of the room.
The SoulBond between them warmed. She "doesn't have grownups anymore"? Jimmy... Tango's thoughts said down their bond, his red eyes sad. Jimmy's expression mirrored Tango's.
I know. Do you think they're dead? Or do you think she was kidnapped?
Tango shrugged. I don't know. The way she said it... I don't think they're alive anymore.
So, what do we do? Jimmy asked.
Tango released Jimmy's hand to rest his fists thoughtfully on his hips. Well... if her family is gone... she needs time to heal. Is she even old enough to fly?
Barely. I doubt she knows much or would be able to stay in the air for long.
Tango pursed his lips. It's not like we don't have the room and resources...
You want to take her in? Jimmy almost didn't dare to hope.
She's just a kid and we're out in the middle of nowhere. If her parents are gone and she's been in a pillager outpost cage—someone has to take care of her. I can build another room up here pretty quickly. She'd be safe here. I'll reconstruct the ward to keep the outpost out of our business.
Jimmy smiled softly. I thought you didn't want kids.
Tango rolled his eyes. I'm not going to turn away an innocent child in desperate need of help just because I didn't want kids, he retorted. She's welcome stay here as long as she wants.
Jimmy beamed, grabbed Tango's face in both hands, and kissed his forehead. Ohhh thank youuu! Thank you, thank you, thank you! His wings flapped happily and Tango shook his head affectionately. I really wanted us to be able to take care of her here. Even if it's just while she heals and we can look to see if her parents are still alive. Thank you, Tango.
Tango brushed his fingers through Jimmy's soft hair. You're welcome, pretty bird.
Jimmy went red under his freckles—
Right as the washroom door opened.
Skye stood there in Jimmy's over-shirt. It was basically a dress on her, the sleeves trailing to nearly her ankles.
Jimmy smiled and knelt in front of her. "Need some help rolling those sleeves up, kiddo?" he asked. She nodded and held out her arm.
Jimmy made quick work of rolling up the sleeves, being friendly and chatting to her. Skye watched quietly. Tango leaned against the wall and watched the scene with a smile on his face. "I'm gonna go get some stuff together," he said to Jimmy, setting a hand on the latter's shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," Jimmy said. Tango headed for the stairs.
Once he was gone, Skye shuffled on her feet. "Why are you being nice to me?"
"Oh, sweetheart," Jimmy said. "You're just a kid—and you're hurt. Of course we're going to be nice to you."
"He looks scary."
Jimmy sighed. "Tango's family history makes him look scarier than he is. He's really a big softie. He went to go get some stuff to make you a room here. So you can be safe while your wing gets better. His magic isn't strong enough to heal your wing like he did the owie on your forehead, so he's going to do what he can to make sure your wing can heal naturally on its own really well."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. How are you feeling? Does your wing hurt?"
"Mmhmm." Skye nodded.
"Can I pick you up?"
"Okay."
He scooped her into his arms, still being gentle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Jimmy's heart melted. He snuggled her closer and carried her downstairs. She tapped his bare shoulder. "You have dots on your shoulder."
"They're called freckles. I have them on my face too." He tilted his face so she could see the splash of freckles across his nose and cheekbones.
"Why?"
"I get them from being in the sun. I'm supposed to wear a shirt with sleeves when I'm working outside so I don't sunburn my shoulders, but I forget a lot, and so I get freckles on my shoulders."
"Oh."
Tango was kneeling in front of one of their chests, building supplies he'd taken from it on the floor next to him. Jimmy took Skye to the kitchen counter and set her down on top of it. He'd noticed when he rolled up the sleeves of the over-shirt that she'd scrubbed herself off a little better, leaving her cleaner than she'd been when he found her. "Hungry?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I have just the thing. We've got some home-grown potatoes and chicken that you're going to love."
Tango hummed. "That'll be good for you to get your strength back, kiddo," he added, gathering his supplies into his arms and getting to his feet to get back upstairs. "Potatoes have lots of nutrients. You'll need them." He paused at the stairs and retraced his steps to the kitchen. He shifted his supplies to one arm and held a hand out toward Skye. "High-five? It's okay if you don't want to."
She stared at his hand for a second—before giving him a high-five.
Tango did a little fist-pump of celebration. "Yes," he said softly, smiling at her. She grinned, a small thing but still visible. Before Tango made happy, singsong noises and did a goofy dance up the stairs, still singing.
Skye giggled. "He's silly," she whispered to Jimmy.
Who grinned down at her. "See? He's a big softie."
She smiled a little brighter. "He's not scary," she decided.
"He's not." Jimmy pulled a potato out of a barrel full of others and stuck it in the smoker, stoking the fuel back to life. Skye giggled again. "Have you ever had a jacket potato before?"
"Why's the potato wearing a jacket?"
Jimmy blinked. "Also called a baked potato?"
Big blue eyes blinked owlishly at him.
"Okay. Maybe you've had one and just didn't know that's what it's called." He busied about the kitchen, pulling some butter out of the chest full of packed ice. Ice was nearly impossible to come by in this area, let alone packed, but a little magic from Tango had given them just enough for food preservation.
Upstairs, Jimmy could hear Tango breaking down one of the walls to start building. Revenge's meowing was also audible, and Jimmy assumed Tango had freed the cat from his crate.
The smoker finished cooking the potato and Jimmy pulled it out. He tossed it between his hands—it was hot—and set it on a plate. He put some chicken in the smoker from where it had been in the ice chest. Then prepared the potato, cutting open the peel and opening it to put some butter inside. "Want some salt and pepper?"
Skye blinked. "Er... sure?"
Jimmy smiled and added some.
Upstairs, Revenge yowled and Tango squawked in surprise. "You're fine!" he said. "What're you yappin' for? You can't whine for affection while you're draped over my shoulder you dingus."
Jimmy snickered as he pushed the plate toward Skye, handing her some utensils. "Go ahead. Eat up."
She took the utensils and stared at them for a few seconds.
Then set them down on the counter and picked up the potato in her hands and dug in.
Jimmy shrugged and went to grab her a serviette to wipe her hands off later, tucking it under the plate. He munched on an apple for a snack while he waited for the chicken to finish cooking, leaning one hip against the counter casually.
"Skye?" he asked carefully.
She looked up from the potato, a little melted butter and flakes of pepper on her chin. "Mm?"
"Have you learned to fly yet?"
She shook her head. "Too little," she said around a mouthful of potato. "Wings not strong enough."
Jimmy nodded. "I thought so," he said, ruffling his own wings with a shake of his shoulders. He stretched the pinions backward to ease an ache in the elbow joints.
Upstairs, a thunk closely followed by Tango shouting a Blaze curse made Skye and Jimmy both turn toward the stairs.
Jimmy boosted himself up onto the counter next to Skye. "Kiddo. When you say you don't have grownups anymore, were you taken from them by the Illagers?"
She sniffed and shook her head. "N... no." Her eyes started to water. "The... the pillagers had crossbows. And axes. My parents tried to hide me in our storm cellar. The pillagers..." She sniffed again. "They chased them. I heard Mama scream, and then Papa. And then nothing. The pillagers came for me. They kept me alive." She shook, putting the potato down, and started to cry. Jimmy wrapped his arm and a wing around her, pulling her close and rocking her soothingly.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," he whispered, letting her bury her messy face in his side. "Me and Tango just needed to know if we needed to ask around about finding you. I'm sorry, Skye." He kissed her soft white hair. She kept crying. He felt her tears soak through his tank top.
His other hand reached into the smoker and grabbed the chicken before it could burn, setting it on her plate.
Tango's footsteps echoed down the stairs and he reappeared. The SoulBond warmed again. What's going on?
I asked about her parents. They're dead. The Illagers.
Ohhh. Can I help?
I don't think so. How's the room coming along?
It's coming along fine. Not going to be anything fancy but it'll be comfortable.
Jimmy nodded. Thank you. He moved his arm around Skye to rub between her wings. She was still shaking against him. Tango nodded back and slipped nearly silently back up the stairs.
Jimmy started humming low, rocking Skye until her sobs calmed down. Once she wasn't shaking anymore, he wiped her tears with the serviette—and then the butter and pepper left on her face that hadn't come off on his tank top.
She looked up at him with big, watery eyes. "What... what's going to happen to me now?"
"Well, first, you're going to finish your food," Jimmy said with a warm smile. "And then, you can stay here. Tango and I will take care of you. For as long as you want. We'll help you heal your wing. And when it's ready, I'll teach you how to fly."
Skye gasped. "Really?" She looked hopeful.
"Of course! But your wing has to heal. And if you want it to heal well, you gotta give your body the energy it needs. And in order to do that, you gotta finish your food."
She nodded and went back to eating. Jimmy smiled.
He stayed on the kitchen counter with her until Tango returned to the kitchen, Revenge draped over his shoulder. His hands were covered in ash. Sawdust that had caught fire, probably. He grinned at Jimmy and inclined his head toward the top of the stairs. "Ready," he said, looking proud and pleased.
Jimmy handed Skye the serviette again. She wiped her whole face with it, and then her hands.
"Your room is ready, kiddo," Tango said, pitching his voice up just a little to sound more friendly.
Skye looked up at Jimmy. He nodded and slid off the counter, taking her hands to help her down. Tango led her upstairs, Jimmy bringing up the rear, still holding her hand where she didn't let go.
The second floor of the ranch house wasn't much. It was largely built into the roof. But Tango had adjusted so that the blank wall opposite the washroom—that originally led to a 5-block drop to the ground outside—now had a pastel pink wood door. Tango took a position between her door and the door to his and Jimmy's bedroom at the end of the hall, gesturing for her to open the door.
Skye looked back at Jimmy for confirmation, he nodded.
She pushed open the door and gasped as she entered the room.
The room was the same wood as the rest of the house. Oak and birch. But the bed was purple and the little table and chair were the same soft pink as the door. He'd even made a small balcony. Smaller than the one off his and Jimmy's room, but big enough for an Avian to take off and land from. The fence posts of the balcony had flower pots on them, each with a gentle but colorful plant in them.
Skye looked like she was going to cry again as she took in the whole room. "This is... mine?" she asked tentatively.
"Uh-huh," Tango confirmed with a small grin—not opening his mouth enough to show off sharp teeth—and a nod. His fire hair was flickering low and warm like a homey hearth.
Skye let go of Jimmy's hand and rushed at Tango, throwing her arms around his middle. "Thank you," she said. "It's really pretty."
Tango knelt to be at her eye level and hugged her properly. "You're welcome."
But Jimmy could see the way Tango's pointed ear twitched and his red eyes didn't quite meet Skye's. Jimmy brought the SoulBond to life between them. You feel guilty that you couldn't make it nicer, he said. Not a question.
Tango's ears pinned back to his head. We have the resources for an extra room. We don't have the resources for a perfect one for a little girl, he thought back. I did the best I could.
Tango. Look at her. She loves it. "The best you could" was more than enough.
Skye let go of Tango and rushed over to the bed, hopping up on it and wiggling in delight. Tango's gaze followed her with a small, fond smile.
I'm going to clean up the dishes. Stay here and chat with her, maybe? Jimmy suggested.
Yeah, yeah. I can do that, Tango replied, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that more than Jimmy. Who just pushed his fingers through Tango's warm, burning hair affectionately and slipped out of the room.
—
Tango sat up in bed. Moonlight streamed through the windows and the door to the balcony. His ears flicked and twitched. What had woke him? Probably Revenge whining to be let out into the animal yard—
His whole body went rigid when he realized what he was hearing wasn't the cat.
Skye was crying.
Slowly, so as not to wake Jimmy, Tango slipped out of bed. He slid out of their room and to the new door on the wall. He knocked. "Skye?" he asked softly. "Are you okay?"
Sniffling was the only reply he got.
"Can I come in, kiddo?"
He heard the creaking of a mattress and small feet tiptoeing over the floor. The door opened.
Jimmy had—somehow—managed to save her ravager plushie from death-by-filth. It was clutched in one of her arms, the other one hugging herself. Her face was wet and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. "Come in," she said quietly.
Tango followed her in. She went back to the bed and boosted herself up onto it. Her broken wing's splint was still in place, the other flopping across the mattress behind her.
"Can I sit by you?"
She nodded. Tango sat beside her.
"You know," he said. "I'm from the Nether. That's why I look like this. Buuut..." He leaned down to smile conspiratorially. "That's also why I'm really warm to hug. Any time you need a warm hug, you just let me know, yeah?"
Her deep blue eyes were dark in the dim light of the bedroom. "Can I have a hug?"
"Of course, sweetheart."
Skye leaned and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his side. Tango wrapped his around her and held her close. He wanted to ask why she was crying, but he had a good guess. Her first night of freedom after being in a cage for who-knew-how-long. Now that she was no longer fearful for her survival, her grief was probably catching up to her at losing her parents.
Tango copied how he'd seen Jimmy rock her gently, trying to comfort her. He wasn't as good at it as Jimmy. Jimmy just had a knack for people. He could connect to them on a level Tango didn't quite understand, but tried to. But Tango gave it his best shot for an innocent child who didn't deserve the hurt she'd experienced.
When her sobs eased into hiccups and her grip around his middle wasn't so deathly tight anymore, Tango felt her go slack against his side.
Having cried herself to sleep.
Tango smiled sadly down at her. He carefully scooped her up into his arms and turned her covers back down so he could tuck her in. He positioned her on her side the way Jimmy slept—the way Jimmy had set her in their tub to avoid jostling her wings—and tucked her in. He smoothed a few loose hairs out of her face and crept out of the room, easing the door shut behind him.
He lingered in the hallway for a moment, the fire of his hair warming the hallway with low light.
Setting his jaw, he slipped stealthily downstairs and out the front door. His Blaze Rods appeared around his head, spinning fast. He shot into the sky, hurtling toward the gorge. The ranch's wheat fields whizzed by below him.
The gorge plunged into darkness below him. He kept going.
When he got close enough, Tango started banking in a fast circle around the outpost, pulling back his arms and hurling fireballs at the dark oak wood of the outpost and its wooden cages on the outskirts. Continuing until it was fully engulfed in flames. He didn't like to fully indulge his Blaze blood often.
But for that sweet, poor child? For what they did to her? Absolutely.
#trafficshipping#Team Rancher#Rancher Duo#TangoTek#jimmy solidarity#Tango Tek#this might be a fun little one-shot series to make... just little snapshots of their life with a kiddo#Traffic Light SMP fic#Double Life Fic#Aurora Writes#Rory Writes
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A nice day to end the world (does it even truly matter anymore?) - Chapter 1 - Scrambledd, the_dark_abyss - 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series [Archive of Our Own]
SO SO SO HYPED (infact gone past hyped) ME AND ABYSS HAVE SO MUCH GOOD STUFF PLANNED
again for the AMAZING treebark title swap organised by @/apollothetransboy And a collaboration with the lovely @the-dark-abyss
We both have so much in store for not only this fic but series..... So check it out if you wish It means a lot!
#trafficblr#traffic smp#Faded Light AU#cyberpunk au#martyn inthelittlewood#martyn itlw#itlw#treebark#(ships are not the fics main focus at all)#if you read/see this art leave a nice comment it really means a lot to us both and oh boy is this a long one....
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Something something about Last Life red names, and how Last Life was the only series were red names were actively exiled and feared, how there was both a fear of the red names themselves, and of becoming one of them.
Something something about watching a person you once cared, or maybe even still care about rise from their grave for the (most likely) last time, watching them decide whether to make you join them, or slip away to madness without you.
It must be terrifying to see the person who used to be, no, still is trying to be your friend, with a look in their eyes that reminds you that you're in a death game, that you cant let your guard down if you like having a beating heart.
Failing to see the laughter and humanity they always had, and wondering if you should start mourning even before their name turns grey.
#im not okay about Last Life#i neeeed to talk about it#this is about all the Last Life dynamics with a yellow/green and a red#godfuking dammit i miss Last Lifeeeeeeeee#why are there no angsty magical mountain fics about scar being to much of a coward to only give joel a life if he absolutely has to#traffic light smp#trafficblr#last life#joel smallishbeans
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For the writing prompts: scarian 7 pls <3
7. handwritten / promised (x) (976 words)
The keep is quiet for a few hours.
Scar likes the quiet, likes the fact that everything in the world has finally settled back for a moment. Relaxed the best it can.
But Grian doesn’t know what the word relaxation means. He’s finally eased himself into understanding that Scar being tied to him isn’t a noose but a slip knot. He’s not tied to anything. Scar knows that part of Grian fears that they’re a step away from being back in that circle of cactus in the desert, with blood under his nails and a body bruised. He knows that’s why Grian shys away from him, keeps his distance when he can, finds someone else to try and love. And he also knows that Grian comes back to him. Settles with a sigh when Scar cooks him a meal, accepts it, falls asleep in their bed, and finds him pressed into his shoulder when they wake.
So there’s no use in being upset.
That’s not the point anyway. Grian is taut like a bowstring. He paces. He watches. He doesn’t sleep. So it’s no surprise that, when Scar returns after washing in the river, hair still damp around his face, Grian hasn’t moved from his spot at the second story window. Scar leaves his things by the door, climbing the ladder up onto the second floor.
“Hey, G,” he says softly, not wanting to spook him. Grian makes a little noise that registers his presence. Scar wanders over, sinking to the ground next to him. Grian’s hands are draped over his knees. Scar reaches out, taking them in his hands, and Grian’s arms move bonelessly.
Scar watches him for a moment, his thumb skimming over the roughing knuckles of his hands, steady and solid, hands he squeezes in his own in a vain attempt to warm them, until Grian squeezes back weakly.
His hands fidget even as they sit in Scar's, absently, out of fondness or fervor, tracing the rough lines. It's something they share, their hands shaped by work. It would be different back home; creature comforts back home made them soft. There was no solace here.
"Grian," Scar says softly. His tone is unhurried. He knows Grian will follow, it's just a matter of when. When he collapses next to him from exhaustion? When his body gives out? When he's blue with cold?
Scar feels him shiver.
"Grian, it's getting late. It's getting cold."
"I can't leave." Grian says finally. It's the first word he's said since the raid. His voice sounds thin. Grian falters, gripping Scar's hand.
"You're shaking, like a leaf."
"Am not."
"Are too. Your hands are freezing."
Grian sighs. He has yet to turn to face him.
“I can’t leave. I can’t.”
“Hey, listen,” Scar says gently, squeezing his hands. “I know what happened today has you on edge. I don’t think...” Scar frowns. “I don’t think anyone would be silly enough to attack us at night. Not when we still have the high ground.”
Grian is quiet for a moment after that. His shoulders relax, just a fraction, as he moves to sit cross legged next to Scar. With his body still turned away from him, he holds an incredible amount of tension. Scar wants to take it from him, stuff it in a little jar, and pitch it as far as he can.
“They killed your pandas,” Grian says, in a voice that sounds so full of softness and grief that Scar all but pulls him into his arms right then. He reaches out to settle a hand on his shoulder. He rubs a circle with his thumb into the fabric of his shirt.
“It’s okay. I think I might burn down the RelationShip in retaliation.”
Grian snorts. There it is.
“We shouldn’t be making enemies right now, Scar.”
“Oh, sure,” Scar placates. “I’ll do it on our last life, then.”
“That’s quite evil,” Grian says. “I may have to help you.”
Scar nods to himself, satisfied. He wraps his arms around Grian, pulling him flush, hands tucked under his wings. Grian folds into him, burying his face in the hollow of Scar’s throat. Scar runs his hand down his back. Grian sighs, breath warm on his neck.
"I...” Scar hums, almost a laugh. “I told you, you were going to get cold out here. Hollow bones."
Grian huffs, then squirms, as if attempting to pull out of Scar’s grasp, just out of spite.
"I—that's an unfair assessment."
Scar squeezes him, laughing.
"Okay, okay, don't you fuss, let ol' Scar warm you back up."
“Fine,” Grian makes a noise, half a laugh, half annoyed. If Scar were looking at him, he’d have seen him roll his eyes.
“Scar?" he asks, after a beat.
"Mm?" Scar hums, nonchalant.
Grian pulls back from Scar’s embrace to look him in the eye. Scar lets him go, hands pulling away all at once. There’s a cold that washes over him all at once, a fear quickly gripping his heart as Grian moves. Grian looks at him, and his expression is concerned, almost scared. Scar watches him struggle to swallow, and speak with a care and caution that scares him, too.
"Promise me you'll be careful,” Grian manages, “I thought...I thought I was going to watch you..."
"Grian—"
"No, no. I don't...” Grian sighs, shaking his head. He reaches over to touch Scar’s face, cupping it his hand. “I just don't want to lose you, not like that."
“I promise.”
Scar sighs, moving his head to kiss his palm before he draws away. His hand draws an absent-minded circle against Grian’s shoulder before it settles back against his ribs, warm and gentle.
"Were you at least impressed?" Scar asks, unable to keep the smile from his voice.
Grian sighs, then he smiles.
"Yeah,” he says. “Of course I was. I always am."
#none of y'all asked me for scarian yet as if you can't see the two scarian fics that i've written#thank you anon#scarian#gtwscar#grian#dlsmp#double life smp#double life fic#text#fics#the writing thing#mcyt#mcyt fic#trafficshipping#traffic light smp#gtws#this ones on the long side bc they made me so crazy
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Winner Takes It All {rewritten}
Grian is greedy. That he's always known. And he'll admit it too, he likes to have the most of everything. Diamonds and monopolies. He likes to have the best builds and the best traps. He likes to have the best business and the best plans. His greed doesn’t end with goods and projects.
Scar is a fine soulmate. Sure, he's okay, they've got the sand. And Scar always has his back when his plans backfire. Scar has never once turned against him, rarely betrays him and always backs him, even if he knows Grian’s in the wrong. They support each other, they don't always agree but they support each other. And Scar is handsome, he's funny, he's a good business partner and a good friend. He's a good friend.
If Grian needed a business partner, someone to con their friends out of all of their goods, Scar would be his first choice. Friendship points, reputation and a thousand other names for useless offerings. Scar could con a wolf out of its winter coat. There is something to be said about Scar’s abilities, he distracts their friends, talking endlessly about the benefits of having Reputation. Grian digs through chests, searches areas and steals. Just the memory of the collection of shinies he’s taken makes a trill hum in his chest.
Should he attribute the beautiful gifts to his soulmate? The idea makes him shudder. Because to attribute these as gifts is to sully the idea he’s built of Scar. He cannot let this concept set him above Big B. Because Scar is Scar.
He is not Big B. Big B is a religious epiphany. His eyes are a soft golden brown, like warm maple syrup. His smile is soft, breathtaking. He laughs like the warm wind of springtime and his kisses taste like love. He is warm, inviting. Scar is minty, a frigid reminder of too much history. He understands Grian, his greed, his desire. and doesn't constantly send shocks of pain and discomfort down the soulmate string. Big B thinks things through, he's logical, professional and wise cracking. Big B is perfect, and he showers Grian in gifts. It's no surprise he likes that.
He is greedy after all.
Perhaps the universe should have known better, assigning him a soulmate that cannot match his needs. Or perhaps it wouldn't matter, Grian is no stranger to wanting. He has always been greedy, has always needed more than one lover to satisfy his ever complex taste in men. Grian almost wishes it didn’t have to be like this. Almost. Then Big B smiles like summertime and Grian is so deeply in love he cannot help but kiss him passionately. (But then he goes home. Scar presents him with diamonds and shinies and gifts of cool metal. His lips tingle with the kisses of two different men.)
For every warm brush of Big B’s hands there is the cooling touch of Scar. For the springtime and sweetness of Big B there is winter and mint of another. They are each other’s opposites. Big B is sweaters and hot chocolate, he is safe. A crackling fire and a good book. Scar is dangerous, freezing in the winter and being so viscerally aware of your own mortality that all you can do is shake in the snowstorm. He still tastes like heaven, even if it is a cooling sort of burn.
Another thing Grian does not mind admitting: he is not a subtle man. His hijinks are blatant, loud, there is no hesitancy in the way he moves. He has brought destruction upon his enemies in a series of quick thrusts. If he waits, it is impatiently, and if chaos occurs then there was likely no plan to begin with. He revels in destruction. In breaking. He can’t help but make a mess of everything he puts his hands on.
And yet, it is saying something, that he is trying to be subtle. He would like to insist it is to spare the feelings of his soulmate and B's. To lessen the blow to their egos. He knows how much Rendog values appearances, it would be a shame if someone saw his soulmate with his tongue down someone else’s throat. He’d like to insist that is why. The undeniable truth is that he knows what he is doing is wrong.
Wrong of him to so strongly desire someone else’s soulmate. Wrong of him to lust after both men, to hold onto Big B without letting Scar go. To curl against Scar’s chest at night knowing he’d rather sleep in Big B’s arms. He can’t have both. Not like this.
Every cookie he savors in the silence of his empty base is a testament to the future he would much prefer. Every exasperated shout to prevent Scar's imminent demise is a reminder of the kind and caring eyes of another. Big B would never put him through this much trouble. Would never leave him alone in their base worrying for his life.
Despite his greed, Grian cannot say he is familiar with jealousy. He has always taken whatever he wants, no one’s ever stopped him. They’ve tried, but rarely succeeded. Yet that must be what sets his gut on fire when he notices the additions to Big B's wardrobe. The ears and glasses, matching with his soulmate it seems. There is an undeniable appearance of love, of affection, of loyalty. Grian wonders if he's losing him, but then Big B sends a secret smile his way and he knows.
Ren does too.
Not that he'd say anything. Ren notices the looks and the cookies, he sees the hearts in Grian's eyes and the presents hovering around the base. He’d be a fool not to see the lingering touches, or the cologne on Big B’s collar. He ignores them. Because he loves Big B, he loves the way he laughs, and his acceptance of Ren's antics. Big B took Ren's shows of affections and accepted them into his world view. And he believes foolishly, that B will choose him at the end of the day. Besides, appearances have always mattered more to him than love.
They are soulbound after all, their pain is shared. He wonders if Big B can feel Ren's coming down the line every time he sees Grian and B crouched down together whispering. Does heartache count as pain? It should. Big B causes an awful lot of it. Not that he knows that. Would he care if he did? Ren’s not so sure. He wonders if there’s anyone he could talk to. He wants to talk to Big B about it, but he can already hear the stream of half-hearted reassurances. The promises of his undying love. Doesn’t he know how easy it is to love another?
Ren watches them converse, the closeness of their bodies, the smile Grian shares with him. Doesn’t he know everyone can see? Can see the flirting in his eyes, the slow touch that rests on his forearm. His hand slips past his, the red strings slide past each other, catching on the fibers. For a moment it seems like they might meld into each other, become one. It makes Ren want to scream. They are not alone in this world, how can they not see the hurt in their lovers eyes as they interact so carelessly.
Ren turns away from the vulgar display, his hands tightening into fists, he wants to throw himself into danger, reminding Big B who the red string attaches to. Yank him so cleanly from Grian’s arms that it leaves his palms stinging. Ren knows deep down pulling Big B from his arms won’t remove him from his heart. They are inevitably linked, there is no escaping the way they are meant to be. Ren and Big B, Big B and Grian, Grian and Scar. They are a polygon of messy feelings, threadbare strings and hidden romance.
Grian’s laugh carries in a way that makes him feel like an outsider, they walk away from each other, cheery friendship in Grian’s face. His cheeks are flushed, and his hands fiddle at his sweater, one could almost pretend that it’s the cold air making him behave this way. Ren almost thinks he’s imagined it, but there’s a final wave that borders far too close to flirtatiousness.
Ren ignores the longing look shot over Grian’s shoulder as Big B walks away holding Ren’s hand. And maybe it’s petty that he holds on a little tighter, slides a little closer. Maybe it’s petty that Rendog parades around the next day, showing off a long trail of love bites that disappear into his collar. His pride disappears in a foul burst of jealousy when he sees them together again.
He laughs it off as best he can, ignoring the furtive glance from Grian. He knows how greedy the pesky bird is, but for now Big B is his. And maybe, if he puts effort into it, Big B can always be his. He hates that he sounds possessive, that he feels this possessive. But Big B’s red string ends with him, and Grian’s ends in Scar’s and the universe saw it fit to be that way, and nothing can change that. At the end of the day, every heart of damage bounces between the two of them. Grian should stay in his lane.
Ren watches Scar bounce in place, He wonders if Scar notices what he does. Huddled down away from them, keeping his face pointedly turned away. Does he see the touches? The smiles? Does he see the way Grian’s eyes grow warm and secretive when he sees Big B? He wonders if Scar burns with jealousy, if his eyes latch on the way their hands brush. He wonders if Scar sees the poorly covered hickies just below the collar of his sweater. He wonders if Scar even cares.
Scar doesn’t.
At least he pretends he doesn't, it’s easier that way. If he turns a blind eye, or pretends it doesn't bother him. He can keep living like this, can keep imagining that Grian loves him. That Grian wants him. If he blatantly ignores the obvious flirting in front of his eyes. It doesn't hurt as much. Everyone's always said he was clueless, why shouldn't he lean into it?
Scar is good at clueless, good at pretending not to see. Good at ignoring the marks he didn’t leave. He’s good at ignoring when Grian murmurs someone else’s name in his sleep. Ignores how he pulls away a little more each day. He ignores the gifts and the cookies.
So he laughs at Grian's obvious dismissal of his feelings. He spends more time with the jellies and he tries not to notice the way the string seems more frayed everyday. Scar stays out of the house, out of sight, out of mind. If he can’t see Grian, then it doesn’t really matter that he’s being cheated on. Doesn’t matter that he’s being replaced. He knows he's just imagining it. Still, he relishes in the harmless pain he sends down the line. He relishes in risk taking, at least then Grian talks to him.
He relishes in throwing himself off higher and higher cliffs, landing in water he places a mere millisecond before. He smiles as the bird squawks at him to get away from the creeper, to use his shield when skeleton arrows come flying. He wonders if Grian knows he does it intentionally, breaking every rule, putting himself in harm’s way, stealing the enchanter. He’ll do anything, cross any line, destroy them both in the process if it means Grian speaks to him. He just wants Grian’s attention. The undivided love of the pesky bird. What will it take for Grian to look at him like he used to?
That’s the kicker, that Grian used to look at him like he was something. Someone. Back when things were simple, when they had the desert, the sand. When they were friends, lovers even. Scar remembers the feeling of preening Grian’s wings, silky feathers under his fingers. Taking care of him, that’s what Scar had always done. He remembers the soft, gentle noises as he combed through and shaped those feathers. He remembers quiet coos and lips pressed against his unexpectedly. He remembers the desperation of the bird at the teasing of his feathers being played with. Scar would do anything to taste that need again.
He wonders if Grian cares enough to spare his feelings. At least he tries to keep his flirting out of Scar's line of sight. Dragging Big B to the other side of a wall to flirt. Doing it when Scar's trying to barter his friends out of their goods, or when he's off scheming. He sneaks away under the guise of stealing supplies, harassing their friends and gathering resources. The only thing Scar sees him gather is another few bruises to add to his ever growing collection. Scar can’t even remember the last time one of those marks was left by his mouth. At least he isn't so bold as to call Big B a pet name. At least not in front of Scar anyway.
The presents feel too far. The constant showering attention. The presents. The cookies. So sweet, a loving package made with warmth and love. Love. Scar pretends not to notice. He plays the clueless husband so well. Pretending that the chest had always been there. Pretending Grian must somehow have all the ingredients to make his own cookies. He sees the others. They watch Grian and Big B flirt, they see Ren’s fury. The way his eyebrows draw tight and his mouth becomes a thin line. He can’t take his eyes off the two, watching as Grian flirts and flirts shamelessly.
They notice that he doesn't and they shake their heads and share a look. It’s almost tangible, the pity. Sometimes he hears them whispering about him. ‘What a shame’ they say. ‘He’s such a nice guy, he doesn’t deserve that.’ ‘How does he not see it?’ He wonders how they'll feel if he tells them he already knows. How they’d react if they knew he could see it just as clearly.
He can feel Grian slipping through his fingers like sand, running across calloused palms into hands of a gentler touch. Scraping the callouses on Scar’s palm. It reminds him. Reminds him of all of the calloused parts of their love. Betrayal and heartbreak and murder. The grains of sand slip away, harder to catch than the strands of their love line. Maybe that was his mistake. He should've tried to hold on. Should have cupped his hands and prayed. But grains of sand are hard to catch, there's always more than you think. They spill out and fall through the cracks and coat your palm in everything you should have been. He is drowning in a sea of countless grains of sand. Maybe if he could count them all, collect them all and put them back they could fix the broken hourglass of their love. Could restart the clock. Scar was never any good at counting.
At night he wonders about Big B. He wonders what B was that was better than him. Kinder perhaps. Less accident prone. Maybe he was just unattainable. It didn't matter. He rolls away from Grian, who sleeps across the room. He doesn’t remember when he moved his bed. Doesn’t remember when they stopped sleeping in each other’s arms. It doesn’t matter. It’s better this way. Better to roll away than to look into the face of his eventual demise.
Grian is greedy, but maybe Ren and Scar are too willing to give.
#hermitblr#fanfiction#grian#hermitcraft#desert duo#angst#double life#double life fic#double life fanfic#double life smp#traffic light smp#trafficlight fanfic#double life scar#goodtimeswithscar#double life rendog#rendog#double life bigb#bigb#trafficshipping#hermitshipping
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Double Life AU (Astera)
TW : Descriptions of death and drowning
ㅤ
Cleo is sat in an office, her fingers drumming against the table - because it's too quiet and the way the person in front of her Is writing too slow.
She's long since stopped needing to breathe - but her chest rises and falls anyway.
"You can stop staring at me like that." She glances towards the second archivist in the room who immediately tenses up. "I'm not going to eat anyone. Much less some scrawny little kid like you."
She tolls her eyes and goes back to tapping on the table.
"Everything seems to be in order." The older of the two speaks up. "We just need a general account of your background."
"You already have it." Cleo frowns. "I've given accounts to not one - but four different people. I was told this process would take a day - and it's been a week."
"This will be the last time." They assure. "I promise."
"It better."
Disgruntled, she leans back against her seat as they pick up the pens and ready it against the paper.
ㅤ
When she had three lives - she was human.
She was a guard and stubborn and fierce as her mothers were. She went out and hunted on weekends with her sisters and other days she arrested thieves and low lives that dared to threaten her community.
Her rune sat beautifully against her chest - spiralling directly from the middle of her neck in beautiful twisting vines and flowers - it's thorns carefully guarding the runic heart at it's center.
She doesn't remember how it happened.
She hadn't died at all.
All she remembers is walking among the other guards - and suddenly being overwhelmed by a startling pain that felt like her legs had shattered.
She didn't die in battle.
ㅤ
When she had two lives, she became obsessed with knowledge.
Adjusting to a rudimentary wheelchair, and keeping her resentment quiet in her chest - she studied runes and curses. She learned about magic and the species that made up her town - and she studied the soul bounds because they governed their world so strongly but so little was known about them. She studied about death and the undead - and how to preserve so many different things.
She studied a flower - vibrant and red, and how its roots burrowed into the ground and bloomed when it was exposed to the moon.
Sometimes she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and wondered if her soulbound knew what they had done.
If they could feel the hate - and the loathing in her heart.
They must have.
She just supposed they just didn't care.
Because she drowned in her own bed, gasping for air she never lost.
ㅤ
When she had one life, she fell in love.
They were researchers that had crossed by chance - an archeologist who studied the forgotten Gods - and gifted Cleo many ornaments and findings from their travels.
Of course, the wheelchair helped keep her patient, but - she was sure if she could walk, she would have drowned them in kisses and slipped their rings on their fingers far before the pastor could've even said a single word.
She wore a totem on her wrist and cherished it like she would the moon.
They were married on a beautiful sunset - and Cleo would never admit it, but it took everything to stop herself from running across the aisle and lifting her lover into her arms and kissing them - because she was so afraid that she'd suddenly lose herself.
Her last life was perfect.
ㅤ
Almost.
Because sometimes-
Sometimes, she would sit awake at night.
She would sit there while her spouse slept - and stare quietly at the apple in her hands - golden and shimmering.
The apple of Eden, or whatever else the religious texts had declared it to be.
Myth stated that it could break the bond between soulmates.
It would separate her and the person who broke her legs and drowned her in her sleep.
The one that made her wake up in the middle of the night, screaming because she could feel something burning her skin.
It would kill the heart that the thorns so lovingly protected with her own flesh and blood.
ㅤ
Because late nights laid awake - clinging onto her spouse, her jaws bared as invisible flames scaled her arms and tattoo'd her flesh with burns she could not see. She looked at her body and saw all the things it could've been - if her so called soulmate hadn't been so careless.
"But why would anyone want that ?"
And Cleo had so many reasons that it filled her mouth like poison.
Not once- but twice, her life had been taken away by something she had no hand to control.
Twice, she had died - unable to do a single thing to stop it.
And she hated it.
Because one day - her spouse would watch her die, because it was her soulmate that was dying instead, and she could hold onto her spouse as tightly as she could - but she'll die anyway.
ㅤ
So one night, she had raised the apple to her lips.
"Because I loved them." She had stopped tapping against the table, remembering the way her spouse had looked at her. "And I didn't want anyone to take me away. I didn't want anyone deciding when I got to die."
And thought about how it'd feel to be free from that fear.
Why would anyone want to be without a soulmate ?
The silence in the room was cold, but she didn't really care.
"And did you ?" They asked. "Did you take it ?"
She held her spouses hand in her own, her teeth grazing against the skin of the apple-
Cleo buried it in her garden and held her partner so tightly against her chest - and stayed up the entire night thinking.
Just... thinking.
"Sometimes I wish I did."
ㅤ
When she had ▊ lives, she had lost everything.
She woke up in a coffin and clawed the ceiling until the wood broke open and drowned her in loosened dirt and mud.
She gasped for air she didn't need and raked her fingers through dead orange hair and accidentally pulled out the vibrant red flowers that now thrived within it like a field.
They bloomed in moonlight and her skin burned in the day, and she sewed her limbs back onto her body when they fell, and refused to look at the rune on her chest - now a distorted shade of green, yellow, red.
But she could walk again.
So she walked, and walked - but never found her home.
She never found her spouse.
ㅤ
"Satisfied ?"
Cleo crossed her arms, staring impatiently at the two before her. "I've recounted my entire history - I've proven I'm not a threat. Now can you let me into the damn city ?"
The two officials looked at each other, hesitant - and eventually approved her request.
She got all her things - a satchel of nothing but some small trinkets and things she could find - and a golden apple buried in between.
#double life fic#double life zombiecleo#zombiecleo#hermitcraft#mcyt#traffic light smp#death cw#injury cw#doublelife#drowning cw#tai post
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i did a thing. again.
he gets to eat a few hearts, as a treat.
#watcher grian#mcyt#hermitcraft fic#hermitcraft grian#hermitcraft#hermitblr#third life smp#traffic light smp
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anyway shout out to that old last life mechanic idea i had where transferring lives was literally cutting one your hearts out of your chest and having someone else eat it. that kind of fucked actually.
#do i have any idea how this would work with scar being forcedully given a life? no. but it fucks#uhhhh#gore#to be safe#last life#traffic light smp#still working on that fic foe this concept. but lets be real it is probably no ever going to be finished lol.#talks#canibalism#sorry to all the new ppl who just followed from that hours post and immediately got 'what if they tore their hearts out and ate them haha'.
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They say that there's a witch out in the woods, deep where no one dares to go.
Pearl isn't a witch, though. She's just a girl.
a dl!pearl character study for the road
#z.fics#z.txt#traffic series#double life smp#pearlescentmoon#in light of the new traffic series starting soon! have a pearl fic
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the deep dark by teddybears_picnic
Official Summary:
etho regressess at an inopportune moment. the server comes together.
Status: Complete
Word Count: 1782 words, Oneshot
#mcyt agere#traffic smp agere#oneshot#fluff#light angst#cuddling and snuggling#agere fic recs#agere fic rec
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"And the women, they all pity me... because I'm married, but not in love! Frozen at the center...?" (x)
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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season
Chapter 20 - “Sizzle (Grian, Scar)”
❤️ Read on AO3
💛 Start from Chapter 1
💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics
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Grian makes plans to set SnifferMyFeet up on a date, then buys some very special bread. Scar comes home to a wrecked apartment and confronts the gingerbread-loving demon in his closet. Just your average Traffic SMP fanfic- nothing to see here.
(First 1,000 words under the cut)
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Grian
Status: Dear, bewildered, and awkward
💙 🧡 💚
Grian leaves a very special cloak hanging in the closet of Lounge 3LF specifically for full moon nights. It's black and heavy. Not at all as flamboyant as he'd like, and decorations would certainly make it more fun. The biggest thing that mars the inky blackness is the giant red symbol on the back: a circle with a slash down the center. More red marks, spaced a few centimeters apart, wrap the hems of his sleeves. He's got one on each shoulder too, and it's really not flattering…
… but the stifling, peculiar nature of it is really the whole point. It's a full moon tonight, you know.
Grian wraps it around his shoulders and clicks the silver clasp at the front. The thick cloak is padded (on the off chance anyone nips him with teeth or claws). It's not armor, but he can't use his wings like this. It'd be a massive liability in a fight, but it dulls the color and rustle of his feathers, and it's excellent at diverting the eye of anyone who's out tonight seeking visual or auditory courting cues.
TwoMuchGrian's still fussing with his feathers, scowling in the mirror. Pearl and Jimmy don their black and red cloaks in turn. Martyn, for the first time Grian can remember, struts from the lobby without one. Grian tries not to notice anybody else. He flips up the hood, smothering his hair. He pauses for Two so they can leave together. While waiting, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and almost snorts.
Nah, certainly not flattering… but totally effective. I wouldn't flirt with me either tonight.
The lanterns and copper bulbs that glow inside the multiplayer hub stay fluorescently bright all night long. Defining "night" is difficult in the underground, especially with time zones from around the world all dumped in one small perimeter. The Between dimension keeps chugging along anyway.
As Grian leaves the multiplayer zone, stepping out into the bedrock streets, the clock tower chimes to signal 12k ticks. Out there, above ground, the world's officially bathed in pink and orange sunset lighting. So they say, anyway. Hmm… Grian tips back his head, gripping the hood in both hands. He pulls the fabric downward so it digs against his pores.
He breathes.
New Star Station's bustling tonight. The city population ebbs and flows with account activity at the best (and worst) of times, but for now, chattering voices ripple through the air. Happy, friendly people bounce along wherever they want to go.
Pearl brushes past him then, sending one last I'm sorry grimace with her mouth and eyes. Grian nods back to indicate All good. Each moon phase stretches out for four days in Between, and tonight's the second one in the batch. The pull against his fluffing scarlet feathers is much, much stronger now than it was on Monday. It prickles over every shaft and barb.
Since neither he nor Pearl care for random hook-ups, they usually go out for food together or catch a movie on nights like tonight. It depends what's going on with Hermitcraft. Really, Grian doesn't make a habit of jumping online for projects immediately after an exhausting Life series recording session like this one. He usually gets Pearl's second full moon night- Gem and Impulse hang out with her on the third.
But tonight, Pearl has a refugee at her place… and not exactly someone he's thrilled to go looking for. His last encounter with EthoCam (Sorry… Rhetoric) left a less than pleasant aftertaste behind. At that thought, Grian stares down the dimly lit street, letting his eyes fall halfway shut.
I need to warn SnifferMyFeet not to go near him…
Maybe another time. Maybe when it isn't the full moon. Vex posture and flaunt themselves like mad this time of the month. Sniff might bite, and that's really not something he's in the mood for. There's still server clean-up to do on Hermitcraft. He's been meaning to add a nicer bridge design to the dolphin path. Maybe he'll send Scar a whisper in a bit.
He rocks forward, setting a brisk pace down the street. Blaze powder and slime balls are already mixing into magma cream on the bedrock. Two drifts after him without touching the ground. As much faith as Grian likes to put in the 'Not on the market tonight' cloak designs, it's an extra blanket of reassurance (like a knock to the head) knowing his twin's there to watch his back. Two might split off for some flirting later on, but it's nice of him to walk him home.
His comm buzzes, rattling up his arm like a shockwave. Grian looks down.
TwoMuchGrian: are we going to bigb's?
"… No, not tonight. Just back to our place."
Cheery people flit around on feet and wings. Some dress in 'No' cloaks and chat anyway, just excited to catch up while they have the chance. Some hook their arms around those of friends or acquaintances they've got their eye on for the evening. Strangers, maybe (some of them). No love hearts flicker in the cracks and crevices, but the warm eyes and friendly laughs say just as much.
It's an early courting night. It's posture. It's a show. Expect a few fights to break out tomorrow morning as people settle in and get more cherry-choosey, fussing over the partners they want to keep for the next 100 days. The block turns next Wednesday or Thursday. Scar won't even hunt until a couple nights into the full moon. He says souls taste better when they're satisfied on their post-loving time high, and they put up less of a fight.
Loving time. Sure.
So… What's everybody doing if these were never real hook-ups to begin with? No kisses. No nothing. His digital, programmed peers have no need nor desire to reproduce. All these empty courtship tugs they feel beneath the full moon just lead to… nothing.
[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]
#trafficblr#Grian#GoodTimesWithScar#ZombieCleo#NPC Grian#Dog's Life#ridwriting#apparently art#If you are not writing your flirty bird hybrids feeding people bread with their teeth then what is even the point#Dog's Life art#mcyt#fic announcement#''And how many men before (good anarchy men)...''
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Wing Lessons
This was supposed to be 1.2k words of simple silliness. I don’t know what happened. Just a little thing between "brothers." Takes place after Double Life
4.0k words
Potential CW: one very brief flashback with Mild Body Horror that can easily be skipped over. It's one paragraph that’s inspired by ezzriin’s Blackest Hand animatic
—
Knock-knock!
Creak!
"Grian?"
Grian looked up from his drafting table where he'd been planning out his next build. "What is it, Tim?" He pulled his glasses off and set his pencil down. He stood and approached the doorway, stretching out his wings as he did. He'd been sitting for a while and his bones were sore.
Jimmy shifted a little so the door was still blocking most of his body. "Could I ask a favor?" he asked.
"Depends on what it is," Grian replied.
"You know how I've been the first one out of the Games every single time?"
"Of course." Grian suppressed a giggle.
"Well... it's changed me. I'm... I'm not used to this."
"What do you mean?"
Jimmy finally pushed the door away from him.
Revealing small, juvenile wings poking out from his back. They were mostly brown with streaks of yellow. Not quite downy, not quite proper adult plumage either.
Jimmy, unable to meet Grian's eyes and turning red from embarrassment, cleared his throat. "Will you teach me how to preen them?"
Grian stared. "Canary wings," he said. Not a question. "They'll get more and more yellow the more they mature." He made a shooing motion. Jimmy backed up and Grian pursued him out of the office. "C'mon. Let me show you." He led Jimmy down the hall into the bathroom.
"When did you get yours?" Jimmy asked as Grian opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a few wingcare tools. "You didn't have them in Evo."
Grian felt his wings twitch and try to puff up at that. He forced them to remain still. "Not long after I left," he replied. "What do you remember about how I left?"
"The Watchers took you. Said they were going to keep you."
Darkness, purplish lightning, the empty hoods and long sweeping robes. Screaming as wings tore themselves from his back and eyes began to open in the skin of his face—
"Something like that, yeah," Grian replied. "After I got away from them, I got wings." A simple lie. One Jimmy wouldn't see through.
Tucking his wings in close, Grian grabbed the back of his red jumper and pulled it off, leaving him in the collared white button-down he wore beneath it. Jimmy followed his lead, though he had on a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up his arms and a white T-shirt underneath.
"Alright. So. First thing's first. It's best to rinse our wings in the shower first. Do not use soap on them. Just the water is enough. They sort themselves out much better without soap. After that, you'll want to ruffle them and puff them up to, sort of, reorder the feathers where they're supposed to be. You might need to do this with your hands too, if your feathers are too messy. Once they're in order, it's time for the oil. This brush right here—" He lifted the instrument in question. "—is to get the feathers closest to your spine that your hands can't reach, but it also spreads the oil from our uropygial glands over our feathers. Actual birds only have one gland and it's usually at the base of the tail. We don't have tails and we have a lot of normal skin in-between each wing. As such, we have one gland per wing. We also have much larger wings than any bird in existence. More glands, bigger glands, more oil. More surface area. You get the point."
The unfocused look in Jimmy's eyes betrayed that he did not, in fact, get the point.
Grian sighed. "Let me show you." He grabbed a tea towel and soaked it in the sink. "Stick your wing over the bath."
Jimmy did as he was told. Grian transferred the tea towel over and stood on the ledge of the bath to be tall enough to reach the top of Jimmy's wing. Jimmy was taller than Grian, and his wings were going to be much larger and longer. At the moment, his were a little smaller than Grian's, and not big enough to support Jimmy's weight for full flight. Grian already knew he'd be the one teaching Jimmy to fly. He wouldn't trust anyone else to do so. As Jimmy's older "brother," sure he would mess with him a lot, but Grian would never allow Jimmy to fall out of the sky.
He wrung out the tea towel over Jimmy's wing, then used the tub faucet to soak the towel again and again until the wing was thoroughly soaked. Goosebumps prickled across Jimmy's arms and he shuddered.
"Oi!" Grian protested. "No shaking off the water yet! I'm not done!"
"It's cold!"
"Yes, because the water has rinsed off the oil that keeps your wings insulated. We're going to be reapplying it. But you have to be patient and not shake off the water."
Jimmy shivered again, but not as dramatically. "Okay. I'll try to hold still."
A few minutes of squawking, slinging orders, and shouting at each other later, both of Jimmy's wings were sopping wet. In seconds, Grian had doused his own wings in water as well, somehow managing not to even get his shirt wet, despite Jimmy's T-shirt being soaked.
Grian took a tool off the bathroom counter and showed Jimmy how to ruffle and puff his feathers to put them back into place. The tool was used to carefully fix feathers that didn't easily fall back into place. Then passed the tool—like long, strong tweezers—over. Jimmy fluffed and shook and reordered his feathers.
"Like that?" he asked hopefully.
Grian assessed him. "Actually, yeah. Didn't expect you to get it right on the first try. Proud of you."
Jimmy looked flabbergasted at the compliment, but didn't have time to bask in it.
Grian scooped up the brush he'd showed off first. "This is where it gets complicated." He twisted and extended one wing straight backward, primary feathers brushing the wall. "Right there. In the middle of the base of my wing, see that dark spot?"
Jimmy leaned closer, eyebrows scrunched. "Oh! Yeah!"
"That's where the gland secretes the oil that we use to finish the process. I'll go fast on the first wing and then slow so you can see what I'm doing, but we have to spread that oil everywhere. It's how we waterproof, insulate, and protect the feathers from parasites and bad bacteria. Also, feathers are essentially dead like hair. So without the oil, they'll get dry and brittle and fall apart. Which is why preening is so important." He used the brush to drag the oil across the underside of his wing first, and then used the specialized, scoop-like brush bristles to carry it over to the backside of his wings.
Jimmy watched with a dropped jaw. "How do you do it so fast?"
Grian smiled. "Years of practice, Tim," he replied. "Don't expect yourself to do it this fast and still be thorough for your first year or two. Now let me do this one slow so you can actually see what I did."
Jimmy watched closely, bent close to Grian's wings, his own juvenile ones moving around with excited twitches. Wings were like a second facial expression to anyone who knew how to read them. And Jimmy's showed off how intrigued and excited he was to learn.
Grian hoped Jimmy was actually paying attention, rather than just looking without seeing. He doubted this would be the only time he taught Jimmy how to do this. And that was fine. Preening was a process. He'd had to teach himself after leaving the Watchers and it hadn't gone well. If he could make it easier for Jimmy than it had been for himself... well. Maybe that made up, somewhat, for all the teasing.
Once his second wing was freshly oiled, he cleaned his preening oil off the brush before handing it over.
"Why'd you clean it?" Jimmy asked.
"To avoid passing any bacteria or viruses from me to you," Grian answered. "Now. Hold your wing out behind you, like I did." Jimmy did as he was told. Grian guided Jimmy to look at himself in the mirror from the side. "See the oily spot?" He pointed to a dark patch of feathers that weren't fluffy like the rest of the air-dried plumage.
"Yeah!" Jimmy exclaimed.
Grian pointed to the brush. "That's where you're going to brush from. Careful not to go against the direction of the feathers if you can avoid it. You don't want to rip any of them out."
Carefully, he guided Jimmy's hands through the oiling process, boosting himself to sit on the bathroom counter when he was confident Jimmy could do it on his own with only verbal guidance, rather than physical assistance.
"By the way," he said when Jimmy was halfway through his second wing. "We'll get you your own preening tools. It's best for every Avian to have their own. To avoid passing along bacteria. Like how you wouldn't want to share a toothbrush with someone. It's fine for this one time because it's not actually exactly like sharing a toothbrush, but in the future, you'd be better served to have your own. You'll need a longer brush, I imagine."
"Why?" Jimmy asked.
Grian gave him a skeptical look. "Our wings are proportional to our heights. Yours are going to be significantly bigger and longer than mine. Just to reach around them to the back, you'll probably need a longer handle when they're fully mature."
"O-oh. Okay."
"I'll get a set ordered for you. Call it a birthday present."
"Awww! Thanks, Grian!"
Grian pulled his red jumper back on, easily slipping his wings through their slits in the back of it. His glamour on them—the one that made his plumage look like that of a parrot, rather than the purple-tinted-black of a Watcher—flickered for a moment. Jimmy was too absorbed in his own wings to notice.
"So how often do I have to do this?" Jimmy asked, tangled up in his own arms and feathers while he tried to finish his second wing.
Grian leaned back a bit on the counter, keeping his freshly-oiled wings away from the mirror to avoid smudging it, and crossed his legs. "Well... that's a good question. Ideally, every day. At maximum, every three days. Your feathers will get really itchy and uncomfortable if you wait even that long, but sometimes things happen and you won't have time."
"Every day?!" Jimmy squawked. "This takes forever!"
"That's because this is your first time," Grian said flatly. "If you preen every day, right after you shower, you'll be as quick as I am in no time and it'll be as much of a routine as brushing your teeth within a few weeks. Also, you missed a bit."
Jimmy spun in circles, looking for a patch of feathers that hadn't been oiled, using the mirror to see the backside.
Grian snorted. "Nah, I'm just kiddin'," he said.
"You absolute buffoon!" Jimmy exclaimed in frustration.
Grian hopped nimbly off the counter and dodged out of the bathroom. Jimmy pursued him, preening brush still in hand. They ran through the base. Jimmy was shouting and Grian was cackling.
The moment he pushed through a door and out into the fresh air, Grian's wings snapped out and he took off. A powerful downdraft blasted Jimmy's hair and feathers backward as Grian launched into the sky.
"You get back here, mister!" Jimmy called. "You get back here and—and—"
Grian cackled as he soared higher, spinning and rolling. Banking in a circle while Jimmy kept shouting for him. This high up, with the wind roaring in his ears, Grian couldn't hear him.
"What's that, Tim?" he teased. "I can't hear you!" He laughed harder. Jimmy was gesticulating wildly, trying to mime for Grian to land.
Grian didn't. Just twisted into an aileron roll and shot off. Laughing the whole time.
—
It only took a week for Jimmy's wings to fully mature. Given how quickly after the Games they manifested, Grian wasn't surprised that they matured fast.
Which was how he found himself standing opposite his "brother" next to a cliffside near the base via the Nether, letting the sun warm his feathers. Jimmy's wings had indeed grown much bigger than Grian's and were so blindingly bright yellow they almost hurt to look at.
"Alright, Timmy. Put these on." He handed over a pair of flight goggles. "You'll get used to the windburn in your eyes eventually. For now it's best to wear those."
Jimmy pulled them on—and Grian snorted so hard he hurt his throat.
"What?!" Jimmy demanded.
"You look ridiculous," Grian managed to say between giggles. "No matter, no matter." He fought to get himself back under control while Jimmy pouted. Grian took several deep breaths, reining himself in. "Okay. Lesson one: flying."
"Shouldn't lesson one be, like, taking off?"
Grian laughed. "No. Lesson one is learning how to fall. Lesson two is learning how to land. Lesson three is learning how to fly. And lesson four is learning how to take off."
"How... how am I supposed to learn in reverse order?" Jimmy asked.
"Easy. Like this."
Grian shoved Jimmy off the edge of the cliff. Jimmy was bigger and taller than Grian and should have been able to stand his ground easily. But nothing a little Watcher power couldn't overcome.
Jimmy screamed as he plummeted.
Grian cackled as he hurled himself over the cliff, wings tucked close to his spine, and dove after Jimmy.
He caught up, since Jimmy was fighting to fall slowly and Grian was diving.
"Spread your wings, Timmy! Face the ground and unfurl them!"
"I can'tIcan'tIcan't!" Jimmy cried.
Grian eased his wings a little bit out to help guide him. He got close to Jimmy and grabbed his hands. "Come on! I'm holding onto you. I won't let you crash! Let them out!" He twisted so his back was facing the ground and Jimmy was above him.
Screaming, Jimmy unfurled his wings.
His falling momentum arrested abruptly.
Grian let him go, flipped over, and snapped his own out. Wind filled his feathers like sails. He navigated so he was gliding beside Jimmy. Their wings were so long that they were nearly thirty feet apart.
"Grian! Grian, I'm doing it! I'm flying!" Jimmy screeched, voice high-pitched.
Grian laughed. "Not yet! You're gliding. You fell, and now you're coasting." He lowered his wing closest to Jimmy and swept below him so they could be a bit closer to talk. "Step two is learning how to land! And it's best to run into your landing so you don't just drop and destroy your knees." He pointed toward a beach not far from the cliff. "Dip your left wing and we'll glide over there. You can watch me before trying for yourself!"
Jimmy struggled, but managed to angle himself into a bank heading for the beach.
Grian dipped and plunged through the air toward the ground. Jimmy followed at a much shallower angle. Grian pulled up at the last possible moment to slow down significantly. He banked in a circle like a vulture to get even slower as he lowered himself toward the ground. He got his legs under him and braced them to run the second they hit the ground. Jimmy kept circling overhead.
Grian ran into his landing. He could land without a run at this point, but he was a Watcher—too durable and immortal to royally screw up his joints. And he needed to teach Jimmy the easy way first.
Once he stopped and looked up, he snapped his wings back out and threw himself back into the sky. "Your turn! I won't let you crash!"
Jimmy screamed the whole way down as he spiraled ever closer to the beach. Grian stayed in tight formation just above, carefully monitoring. He had an instinct for flying now—
And he knew Jimmy was coming in too hot. At the wrong angle.
Jimmy seemed to realize it too. He was still screaming, but it got louder and more frantic.
Grian pulled up short and flapped in place, hovering as best he could. He lashed one hand out, the other wound back behind him. Both of them with strained fingers.
Purple light surrounded Jimmy and adjusted his angle. He slowed down until he was at nearly a standstill and stumbled to a landing.
Grian released the power holding Jimmy and twisted into a sharp dive, landing only a wings-length from Jimmy. "Bad angle, Timmy," he said.
Jimmy whirled. "How did you do that?!"
"Do what?"
"You stopped me from falling. I don't know how—but you did it!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grian said flatly, just the right amount of obliviousness in his eyes for Jimmy to believe it.
"Then how did I land?"
"Favorable wind, is my guess." It was so difficult not to smile or giggle.
"Do I get to learn how to take off now?"
"Nope," Grian said. "We're going to hike back to the clifftop and we're going to jump again so you can learn to fly first. There's no use knowing how to take off if you don't know what to do afterwards."
"We have to hike?!" Jimmy complained.
Grian gave him a look. "Coming from the athletic one between the two of us," he said sarcastically, already heading for the path that would lead them back to the top.
Jimmy sighed dramatically and ran to catch up. "Grian—Grian—talk me through it while we walk, yeah? Once we get up there, how do I fly?"
"I believe in learning as it happens," Grian said blithely. "Besides, you don't listen."
"I do too!" Jimmy protested, blustering a bit. "Just—just talk me through it! Like, the flapping or whatever."
Grian snickered. "Fine."
He gave very thorough, clear instructions the whole way up. Jimmy looked overwhelmed about two minutes in. But, at the very least he looked like he was trying to understand. He asked questions and sought clarification.
Soon enough, they were back atop the cliff.
"Okay. Just hop off and give it a try, then," Grian said. "Running jump to give you as much outward momentum as possible."
Swallowing hard, Jimmy backed up several long steps, looking at the ocean beyond the cliff. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I got this. I'm Big Man Jim. I can do this. I can fly." He nodded to himself. "I'm gonna fly. I will."
He ran toward the precipice.
And stopped within a foot of the edge. "I can't do this! I can't just yeet myself off the side of a cliff! Into midair! I can't." He shook his head, staring over the drop.
Grian rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' s—" One quick pull and push of his arm smacked Jimmy in the back with a gust of wind that sent him off the edge screaming again. Grian ran to the edge and launched himself off. "Get your wings out, Tim!" he shouted.
Thankfully, Jimmy figured that bit out. He righted himself and got back into gliding position. Grian dove beneath him, coming back into the same formation as before.
"Okay! Now remember what we talked about! Flapping for height and distance. Banking for direction. We'll get to rolls and tricks in a long time."
Jimmy nodded, gathering his courage back up.
He started—slowly—navigating the sky.
"Yes! That's how you do it! Tim, you're doing amazing!" Grian shouted. He churned the air with his wings and surged up to follow after Jimmy.
"Grian! Grian, I'm flying!" Jimmy shrieked. An ear-to-ear grin covered his face.
Grian laughed, brushing the outside tips of his primary flight feathers against the tips of Jimmy's in a moment of reassurance. Before he flipped into an aileron roll and came to a glide on Jimmy's other side.
"How'd you do that?"
"Practice." Grian took a deep breath. "Feel that warm breeze? Use it to ride higher. It's an updraft!"
Jimmy caught a couple more meters of altitude, but when Grian hit the same updraft, he soared much higher, laughing with joy and glee.
They flew around for a little bit, practicing, before Grian came to a gentle glide above Jimmy. "Ready to practice landing again? Are your wings getting tired?"
"A bit."
"Let's land. Then we'll do a quick takeoff lesson, land again, and then call it a day."
Jimmy nodded.
Instead of returning to the beach, they landed at the top of the cliff. Jimmy managed to catch the angle much easier since he hadn't gotten too much higher than it this time. He ran into his landed much smoother. Grian just dropped onto the ground and tucked his wings back easily.
"Not bad. Now, for takeoff, it's easier to take a running start. Fill up your wings with air, and such. Standing takeoff is a lot harder. Let's start with the running."
"Okay. Yeah. Okay."
"I'll show you first." Grian opened his wings and took off at a dead sprint before beating his wings at the air and taking to the sky.
Jimmy followed. Taller, longer legged, and more athletic, he hit the air with his take off quicker and stronger, surging upward.
Grian cheered. Jimmy laughed hysterically, like he didn't believe he'd done it.
"Grian! It worked!"
Still in the air, Grian managed a pretend bow. "You've learned from the best, my young apprentice," he teased in a goofy voice.
They both banked into an easy landing. Jimmy snatched Grian into a bone-crushing hug, still careful to avoid his wings. "Ooooh! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Grian chuckled. "You're welcome, Tim." He squirmed out of the hug and took a few steps back. "Nether portal home?"
Jimmy nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." His face was flushed with windburn and exhilaration as he pulled the flight goggles down around his neck. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever done. It's so much cooler than an Elytra!"
"Harder, but better," Grian said. "The Elytra and rockets do most of the work for you when it comes to landing and taking off, but flying under your own power is much more rewarding."
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically.
They hiked a short way to the Nether portal they'd made on the way here and ducked into it.
The journey through the Nether wasn't long. The whole way back, Grian was lost in thought as Jimmy rambled.
It had been a long time since he truly appreciated the gift the Watchers had given him by giving him wings. He took them for granted. But watching Jimmy discover the joys of real flight, not just Elytra gliding, reminded him of when he first learned to fly properly and thought it was the most amazing thing.
He glanced over at his younger "brother"—who had no memory of how Grian had been torn away from Evo and turned into a Watcher, whose wings were the result of a Canary Curse—and the smile still covering Jimmy's face was enough to make him smile himself.
Yeah. Being a Watcher wasn't always so bad, if it meant he got to share fun experiences like this with his friends.
One quick beat of his wings got him up high enough to sling his arm around Jimmy's neck and give him an affectionate, soft noogie. "I'm glad it got to be me, to teach you how to fly, Tim."
Jimmy, his big hazel-brown eyes suddenly getting a little misty, smiled. "Me too, Grian. Even if you did push me off the cliff." He gave Grian a playful shove. Grian shoved him back. They started pushing each other all the way back to the Nether portal that would take them back to their overworld base, laughing and calling out playful jibes at one another, tumbling through the portal home.
#cw: body horror#(briefly)#Traffic Light SMP fic#Jimmy Solidarity#Grian#Watcher!Grian#Aurora Writes#Rory Writes
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(Quick note: Rye is a fake name, not my real one. I love my real name and think it suits me but won’t be using it for privacy reasons)
Heyo! :D My names BirbE, or Rye if you need something less username-y, and I have crawled into your Tumblr feed >:}
I have been called many names over the years (honourable mentions to Bald Dora With A Gun and SKUAHJNFASKJFKDASljgk) and like my pronouns the list can only grow :))
On the topic of pronouns, I use them all. I prefer female or gender neutral language (ie: lady, pretty, etc) but don’t really care if you switch it up or call me something else.
I love a good pronoun recommendation, so if you have anything, feel free to send an ask :D. I also LOVE when people ask me for neos, so if you need some sets PLEASE ask. Or just send an ask for anything!
I’m almost entirely an MCYT blog, with the occasional odd one out. I mostly watch Owengejuicetv and GeminiTay, and the occasional Ldshadowlady or Oli/TheOrionsound whenever he posts. I do watch other creators tho, depending on the smp.
SPEAKING OF SMP’S, I watched/watch Fable smp, Dream smp/BBH smp, Outsiders smp, the Traffic light series, Rats smp, Pirates smp, the occasional Hermitcraft, Empires smp, Newlife smp, Afterlife smp, Sos smp, and some more I can’t think of right now.
I am in fact a minor (<16) so please keep that in mind, and no discriminatory stuff. So, no homophobia, racism, sexism, ableism, things like that. This is a negativity free zone :3
I currently only have a few tags:
Silly Straws: the tag for my vigilante Owen fic.
mto!au: Short for Meet The Owens au, my small au/comic strip series in which the Owengejuice characters meet.
Second Chances: my other Owen fic, where outsiders smp Owen gets isekaid and learns to be a better person.
pronoun fairy attacks: I give someone pronouns from my hoard >:3
saved posts: I tag something with this when it’s advice or a link I want to be able to find again so I don’t have to go through my whole blog
Other than that, I’m mostly just here to vibe!
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Fic Masterlist!
Hello! Most of you following me on Tumblr probably know me for analyzing lore (found under my tag #overrainylyzed), but did you know I also analyze lore in prose format?
Fanfiction. I write fanfiction.
I write on ao3 under the username rainyinautumn (same as this blog), and I've put together this masterlist that I'll keep updated with my writing. All titles are hyperlinked.
COMPLETED FICS
Sing a Song of Six-Bit
One-shot, 1.7k words
Hermitcraft S9 (originally written for Hermitzine 8!)
Grumbot & Grian (Grumbot-centric)
Premise: Grumbot learns what music is.
The Things That Come Around, and the People That Don't
One-shot, 2.8k words
Limited Life (originally written for Traffic Zine 4!)
Tango & Impulse, Tango & Bdubs (Tango-centric)
Premise: Tango's boogey kill on Bdubs, but with extra flair.
Star Light, Star Bright
One-shot, 2.7k words
Hermitcraft S8
Tango & Mumbo, Tango & Keralis (Tango-centric)
Premise: Star!Tango goes on a mission to the moon.
False Volta
One-shot, 1.7k words
Limited Life
Martyn & Ren, Martyn & The Watchers (Martyn-centric)
Premise: Martyn's final minutes on the Limited Life server.
Mellow Yellow
One-shot, 1k words
Limited Life
Skizz & Tango (Skizz-centric)
Premise: after Skizz kills Tango to bring him down to yellow, they talk about what comes next.
The Sky Beneath Our Feet
One-shot, 2.9k words
Hermitcraft S8
Boatem Crew (Scar-centric)
Premise: Scar falls all the way through the Boatem Hole and in doing so finds a way to get the five of them off the world before it's destroyed by the moon.
Throw It in the Fire
One-shot, 5.8k words
Hermitcraft S9/Empires S2 + heavy Double Life influences
Tango & Jimmy (Jimmy-centric)
Premise: while Tango is visiting Empires, Jimmy begins to fear their bond will be weaponized in order to patronize him.
I Rule Too Much Already
One-shot, 4.1k words
Hermitcraft S9/Empires S2
Bdubs & Pearl (Bdubs-centric)
Premise: the story of how two gods became two saints.
The King's Hands
One-shot, 5.9k words
Hermitcraft S9/3rd Life
Ren & Martyn & Bdubs (focus on all three)
Premise: shortly after Ren steps down as the king of Hermitcraft, red name Martyn from 3rd Life comes through the Rift.
The Art of Fitting Nine Into Three
One-shot, 4.9k words
Double Life
Scar & Grian (Grian-centric)
Premise: magic gone awry turns Grian into a cat, and communicating the problem to Scar proves... difficult.
We'll Have a Home Somewhere
One-shot, 1.6k words
Double Life
Tango & Jimmy (Tango-centric)
Premise: following their final death, Tango and Jimmy have a talk in the place that comes after.
IN-PROGRESS FICS
Money-Back Guarantee
Multi-chapter, 4.1k words so far
Pirates SMP/Hermitcraft
Boatem Crew (Scar-centric)
Premise: the members of Boatem are separated when they crash on Pirates SMP while trying to escape the moon, and Scar wants nothing more than to find them all again.
Sink Into My Soul
Multi-chapter, 3.3k words so far
WitchCraft SMP
Scott/Milo (Milo-centric)
Premise: Scott successfully resurrects Milo, but happy ever after is still out of reach.
Terminal Velocity
Multi-chapter, 3.6k words so far
Hermitcraft (Superhero AU)
Scar & Grian (Scar-centric)
Premise: renowned hero Hotguy is assigned a sidekick, who just so happens to be a good friend he's been hiding his secret identity from.
Fear in a Bottle
Multi-chapter, 8.5k words so far
Double Life (The Magnus Archives AU) + heavy Hermitcraft influences
Everyone & Everyone (slightly Grian-centric, focus on everyone)
Premise: a dangerous ritual unintentionally lands an avatar of each fear in a dimension filled with unknown horrors... the worst of which might just be each other.
To Sail the Ocean in a Pond
Multi-chapter, 11.8k words so far
Hermitcraft/Life Series + Empires references
Scar & Grian, Scar & Cub (Scar-centric)
Premise: Scar is taken through the Rift to an alternate Hermitcraft Season 9 and tries to find his place on the server while he's stuck there.
The Stars Are Falling Down on Us
Multi-chapter, 3.3k words so far
Hermitcraft S9
Grian & Mumbo, Grian & Impulse (Grian-centric)
Premise: Grian studies the Rift, and the Rift makes things difficult for him.
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ok on behalf of fellow impdubs enthusiast i offer 14 on the prompt list for them <333
14. bruised / kissed (x) (744 words)
Bdubs lies in the grass outside. His heels clip the murky black beyond the cast of light from the lanterns propped up on the sills of the house. It’s quiet—a moment of respite for the first time in a long time since the game started.
The good thing is that the earth and grass under him haven’t had the chance to cool off nearly long enough for dew to form, so he lays in the dry grass and breathes in the smell of rain that shifts gently on the horizon. It’ll rain, at least one day, and the earth will be soaked and the ravine will fill up. The world here will get all washed out with a flash flood—or something, he thinks, that’s what flood myths are about, aren’t they?
Bdubs opens his eyes. There are stars tonight. Ones he knows and ones he can’t remember. Constellations Etho told him, ones Cleo showed him, ones he learned himself, ones he pointed out to Impulse. They line up in sparkling little patterns, so that if he takes his hands and funnels out the light he might be able to see them better. He cups his hands around his eyes and stares into the sky. The grass tickles his ankles, poking up under his socks.
“Bdubs?”
He tilts his head back, hands falling slack back into the grass behind him. Impulse’s shape blocks out the light from inside, cutting a dark line through the warm orange light. He smiles, more on instinct than anything else. It’s reflexive. It’s Impulse.
“Hey, you,” he says, scrunching his nose. Impulse laughs a little.
“What’re you doin’ out here in the grass?”
“Stargazing,” Bdubs says simply. He reaches out, patting the spot next to him. “C’mon, grass is dry.”
Impulse shakes his head, but he shuffles over anyway. He sinks to the ground next to Bdubs and lies back. Their elbows knock together. Bdubs doesn’t move his arm, so they’re shoulder to shoulder, forearm touching forearm. Impulse manages to catch three of his fingers, which he holds onto. His hands are warm and dry, like the grass.
“Find any new ones?” Impulse says.
Bdubs frowns.
“Stars?”
Impulse smiles, inclining his head in Bdubs’ direction.
“Sure,” he jokes, giggling a little.
Bdubs rolls his eyes, shuffling so that they’re really side to side now, with their hands resting on Bdubs’ hip.
“Of course there aren’t,” he snorts, voice dropping a few levels to account for how close he’s gotten himself. It’s a perfect angle for him to rest his cheek on Impulse’s shoulder. Which was the goal. If it hadn’t been obvious to Impulse. “Dork.”
Impulse scoffs.
“You’re one to talk,” he retorts, but he leans in to rest his head against Bdubs’ and Bdubs feels him sigh into his hair.
Bdubs points with his free hand.
“There,” he says, tracing the shape of a V in the sky. “Those make a circle...” he frowns. “Circle-ish.”
Impulse follows his hand with his own, tracing out the shape in the air. He closes it, though, drawing an oval against the stars. He hums softly.
“Like a wheel,” he says.
“Sorta, yeah.”
“Wheels keep turning,” Impulse says, with a note of seriousness that nearly makes Bdubs shiver. Then he snorts, and he laughs.
“You’re too philosophical to go stargazing with,” he complains into his shoulder, still bubbling with laughter.
Impulse laughs too, leaning hard into him.
“You love it!”
At some point he leans close enough so that his nose brushes Impulse’s cheek and that makes him turn, and now they’re only a few microns apart and really, really, he couldn’t be told off for just leaning in and kissing him. He couldn’t be blamed for it. It was Impulse. Of course he couldn’t.
It seems like every time he kisses him it feels like the first time, even if it’s one of a handful, one of tens, one of fifties. Impulse kisses him as gently as Bdubs does enthusiastically, hand sliding up to cradle his face, smoothing lines with his thumb against his jaw. Bdubs laughs against him, until they’re smiling more than they are kissing and laughing more than kissing too. Impulse lets his hands ruffle Bdubs’ hair and Bdubs presses his cheek against his face. He keeps laughing.
They both do, lying together in the dry brush on a warm night in the middle of the worlds worst death game. He does love it. They both do.
#would you believe me if i actually drafted this right after you posted your art#and then made it fit the prompt by writing more#i was so unwell about them thank you for asking for this#giving me a reason to post#i am so unwell about impdubs#impdubs#impulsesv#bdoubleo100#dlsmp#double life smp#double life#double life fic#trafficshipping#traffic light smp#mcyt#mcyt fic#text#fics#the writing thing#ashsoka
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Greetings, my Hermitcraft and Traffic Life SMP audience...
Would you like to help me rig a poll?*
I - that is, two of my DSMP fics - have been nominated for awards in a fan-run and light-hearted poll. Please consider going across to vote for me below, even if you have never watched DSMP, don't care about DSMP, hate DSMP, or just hate the corner of DSMP I write in.
I do ask that you remember to be kind, though. Or to ignore this if it isn't your thing, there's no pressure on anyone.
Poll 1 - Best Short c!Dream Fic
Please pick "Steam - Airrec (Raichett)"
Poll 2 - Best c!Prison Duo Fic
Please pick "Accident - Airrec (Raichett)"
*Rigging is both allowed and encouraged, as stated in this post. Please remember that this is a light-hearted poll, and that the presence or absence of fics do not reflect at all on their value.
Also please don't go around being unkind to other nominees - not that I think you will be, but I just want to say it straight so that there's no chance of misunderstandings. If this isn't your thing, ignore it.
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