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fountainpenguin · 4 months

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"And there's a magic act that saws Regina in half, and this time it will take! Now, that's a party!" (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 18 - “Snap (Truce Night)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Truce Night signals the whole Dog's Life server to settle down for sleep, unless you're Joel and Ren with a plan to lure in phantoms on a stormy night... or maybe Impulse, who's been on the hunt for Bdubs since Session 2 began. Don't worry about him! He's not on red, so he can't kill the guy.

After all, that would be against the rules...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Etho-Scar Alliance

Unaffiliated

GoodTimesWithScar - Pillager

🖤 💜 🖤

It really is a big cave. Cleo, Tango, Pearl, and Jimmy probably don't even know anyone's lurking around down here in the second tunnel layer. Or is it third or fourth? They're pretty deep underground. Scar drags his fingertips along the damp wall, tracing stringy moss against his nails. It flutters. He can feel this world breathing like a coiled dragon underneath the surface.

Amethyst nearby. I can feel it pulsing…

And there, around the next corner, is the friend he came to find! Scar keeps his trudging footsteps heavy, and not only because he's limping now (his glitch clinging on the back of his leg; difficult to bend). His crossbow doesn't make a fantastic cane. Mumbo went and tucked his bed in the back of the little cave. He sits at the foot of it, the sheets still neatly made up. Yeah, Scar's been there. When there's red life juices thrumming in your code, it's hard to settle down.

Mumbo's hunched over there at the end, rubbing his thumb against his diamond sword. He's in his pajama skin - loose white T-shirt with all-too-familiar red text scrawled across the chest - and breathes slowly, warmly, in a way that flutters his mustache.

Oh, he's very red, you see… but Scar is not afraid of him. Mumbo is his friend.

The torchlight flickers against the pale, sharp edges of Mumbo's face. The blade is sharp enough, he's already nicked himself a couple times on both hands. White marks expose the first layer of goopy spawn egg code stuff between skin and soul. As Scar steps in on swaying feet, Mumbo lifts his eyes. The torch crackles halfway between them.

"I feel nothing," is the first thing Mumbo says. That's his greeting - all of that - and Scar tilts up his mouth in patient sympathy. Mumbo keeps picking his thumb against the blade, even though he's no longer looking at it. Hot eyes fixate on Scar's… Hot and cool! Very cool. He likes to think himself cool in the head, anyway. Mumbo murmurs, "See, that's why I don't think this game's for me. I feel nothing."

"Oh, you love me. I'm always there for my friends. Everybody loves me. In fact, that's why I'm here."

Mumbo lurches to his feet. He swings his arm, bringing the blade straight so it points at Scar's throat from several blocks away. "I could kill you," he says. His voice doesn't slip, doesn't tremble, but lands without emotion. "I could carve you like a pumpkin. You too are a lump of pixels with nothing inside, falsely smiling. I'd feel nothing, I suspect."

"No, no," says Scar, striding forward. He's not afraid of Mumbo, silly! Not Mumbo in his bare feet and pajamas, his eyes wide and wild. Mumbo's a good guy; Mumbo is his friend. He steps closer. Mumbo's shoulders tremble. He tilts back his head, staring through Scar like they're separated by a curtain of fire and nothing more.

Gently (firmly), Scar knocks Mumbo's blade aside with his knuckles. "You just need a good murder in your system, Mumbo! Red life is where all the good times are! I might even be jealous- you get to have all the fun! Why, I've got to uphold deals and alliances, and I'm carrying Etho's weight along with it, and killing BigB didn't give me nearly the rush I wanted. Would I lie to you about the good times?"

"I could kill you. I could kill you, Scar."

Grian stole the traits of Enderman

"Um- No, no! You actually can't- See, I'm all alone down here; that would be so mean… You have to be purple for the turn of an episode at least, I think I heard. I'm looking for a friend!"

"I could kill you," Mumbo says again, knuckles tight around the hilt of his sword. It's still extended, and Scar's so close now that it's an easy flick for Mumbo to press the tip of it against Scar's iron chestplate. Having literal iron abs would be a funny sight. Diamond abs would be amazing. That probably hurts when doing crunches. Imagine all that grating back and forth… Diamond cuts diamond- that's a real thing. No, it's true!

"Oh, it's Truce Night… Killing me will have to wait."

Mumbo's glowing eyes bore in a little deeper. "It's not Truce Night 'til the double beeps go off. You're in my cave."

PearlescentMoon went to bed. Sweet dreams!

Scar's hand glitters white. He shifts his crossbow from his inventory to his main hand. Mumbo's blade still rests against his chest, but in all the red haze - and in all his red protests - Mumbo looks frightened. He's backed into a corner, and if he's spooked, he'll definitely swing. Will he, though? Scar's allowed to strike back if Mumbo hits him first. Reds are mostly dead, you know… Reds have wild, mind-messing mods pumping in their code. "But I want to team with you!" And he laughs. Isn't that obvious? Has he not been clear?"

"You can't, Scar." Mumbo's tone is short and fierce, like the blade pressing into Scar's chestplate.

"Oh, you were wonderful at scaring people back in Last Life."

There's a pause. Mumbo's eyes fidget like he's snapping screenshots or zooming on Scar's face. The sword point scratches, diamond squealing over iron. It doesn't drop any lower. "Well, that's quite encouraging. Thank you for, um… saying such flattering things about me." Mumbo blinks. "I don't really know what I'm doing here; to be perfectly honest, I feel like I was absolutely pants at being a red name last time. I really don't know if I deserve to be here."

"Why, you're here to be my friend, of course!"

"Am I? Really?"

"Oh, of course, of course… Have you seen Bdubs, by the way?"

Perplexity (Perplexion) stitches its way across every line of Mumbo's face. For the first time, the sword scrapes downward. It drops from Scar's chestplate and dangles, tip aimed at his heel instead. Mumbo upturns one hand. He holds it out, awaiting payment. "Have you brought me something nice? I can kill him for you. Would you like me to kill him for you?"

Such a polite request… Mumbo is so very polite. It's one of the beautiful qualities that makes him such a nice friend. Scar grabs his hand instead, shaking up and down. Mumbo's mouth twitches at the contact, though he keeps breathing and doesn't jerk back his hand. "Oh, no," he says, "but Bdubs is at the surface! And Bdubs is such a lovely man. It's our job to protect him."

"That… sounds like the exact opposite of my job right about now, Scar."

[ Full chapter link at top ]

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em-mermaid · 11 days

Text

my heart is wherever you are

Ren’s hand is warm between his own.

“You’re here.” Ren whispers, as they meet each other’s gaze. His eyes seem to search, drinking in Martyn’s face with a look that feels like he’s afraid he will disappear. “How?”

or: Ren finally gives up his role as king.

(also on AO3)

——————

Martyn is falling.

Falling.

Down. Always down.

A never ending plummet, tumbling towards an unknown destination. Sometimes, he wonders how he knows he’s moving downwards instead of any other direction through this liminal space, through this in between. He supposes he has to trust his gut on that one. No other choice really.

So he falls, ever downwards through the endless stream. A sort of stasis.

Usually, it ends with a phone call. Sometimes it’s Scott calling to say hello or one of the Noxcrew pulling him into another MCC. Other times it’s Grian on the other end, extending an offer to join yet another one of his experimental servers. An offer to join a game that he would accept without an ounce of hesitation, but boy is he getting tired.

Well, maybe tired is the wrong word.

He still enjoys them quite a lot. It’s a chance to see some old friends and make some new ones. A chance to strategize and have fun. But maybe, he thinks, after this last game the taste of victory didn’t sit on his tongue in quite the way he wanted it to.

And there are always the whispers. The taunts and bloodlust that he can’t quite shake. The voices calling for a rematch, for a victory, for a reunion with a king that is no longer his. A king he failed.

A king he lost.

A king he loves.

And still, he falls.

The shrill sound of his communicator startles him from the monotony of air rushing past his ears. He looks down at his watch to see… Cleo? Why is Cleo calling? Cleo never calls.

“Hello?” he answers, feeling a tug from his sternum. Well, that’s definitely her on the other end.

“Oh Martyn, hi!” Their voice crackles through the speakers. “I wasn’t sure this would work, I’m glad you answered. Do you have a minute?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replies. “Although, would you say this is out of the world? How would you classify the datastream?”

He hears her chuckle through the line. “I dunno Martyn, you’re the one who spends all their time there.

“You make a good point.”

“Yeah I do. Anyway, I have, well, a bit of a large request.”

Martyn hums inquisitively, unsure. What would Cleo need from him of all people?

“I know this is a touchy subject for you, but it’s important, alright? I was giving Ren a tour of–”

He cuts them off, talking over them, words tumbling from his mouth before he can think twice. “Whoa whoa whoa wait what? This is about Ren?”

Cleo scoffs. “Yes Martyn, it is. If you could give me just a minute to explain before interrupting that would be grand.” And oh, of course the sharp sting of her words is something reliable in every life.

He rubs a hand down his face with a groan. It’s not worth the argument now. He knows she would just hang up and leave him wondering, and he is far too curious to risk that at the moment. “Right, right okay. What’s this about Ren, then?”

“So, I was giving Ren a tour of my museum earlier and— you remember that he became king of the server for a while, yeah?”

Martyn makes a noise of acknowledgement. He remembers overhearing something about it in passing but never had the chance to ask about it.

“Well,” Cleo continues. “My museum has a lot of artifacts from then and he sorta had a bit of a breakdown after seeing them? And now he’s asking for you.”

“He–” Martyn hesitates. Surely that’s not true. It’s been so long since he’s heard from Ren. Why was he only reaching out now? Why through Cleo? After they had been allies at the end of last life, Ren had seemed distant. There was the sting of double life, where BigB had taken his place at Ren’s side, followed by Ren’s complete absence in limited life. Martyn had finally been starting to accept that maybe Ren was avoiding him, that maybe he had pushed Ren too far, gotten too close.

When Martyn finally speaks his voice is softer, with a quiver he didn’t intend to let through. “He wants to see me?”

She lets out a soft sigh, a noise far more genuine than he’s heard in a while. “Yes, Martyn, he does.”

“Oh.”

“X has already agreed, you’re whitelisted if you want to join us. Quite honestly, I think Ren would really appreciate seeing your face right now.”

This is his chance. Ren wants to talk. To see him. It’s almost bittersweet, but also too good to be true. After all this time. After all these months, nearly years of waiting for him. All those unanswered calls and messages and finally the chance at some answers.

“Yeah,” he says, and it feels like the right decision. “Yeah, I’ll join.”

“Perfect. Give me a minute to message X and I will see you soon.”

“Aye aye captain, see ya.”

And, with that, the phone call ends as quick as it started, leaving him in stunned silence. He’s going to see Ren. He’s going to see Ren today. It’s finally time to be reunited with his love. With his King.

His phone beeps.

[Join Hermitcraft Season 9?]

He clicks.

——————

The world spins when his feet touch down, the air squeezing on his chest as he struggles to adapt to the new environment. He can feel the busyness, how the air seems to almost vibrate with life. Redstone lag pulses from somewhere to his left and a drowned gurgles from below the soft waves to his right.

He feels a hand come to rest his shoulder, holding him steady as he finds his balance and blinks in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, are you quite alright, my friend?” A voice asks, and he finally regains his senses enough to see a helmeted face in front of him.

“Peachy,” he manages as Cleo touches down on the ground nearby. She stumbles slightly with the speed of the landing, but before he can say anything to her, she tosses him an elytra. It nearly knocks the breath from his lungs as he scrambles to catch the wings.

“What, not even a hug?”

“Not if you ask like that!” She quips back. Despite the sharp words, she squeezes his arm in greeting.

“Thanks X, I got him from here.”

“No worries. Let me know if you need anything else. And keep me updated on Ren, yeah?”

“Will do.”

Xisuma flies away, leaving the two of them alone at spawn. It’s quiet for a moment while Cleo watches Martyn put on the elytra. He takes a breath and Cleo fishes out some rockets, passing a handful to him. He feels unsteady, uncertain. Now that he’s here, he begins to wonder what he’s gotten himself into.

“It’s nice to see you,” Cleo says and they give him a small smile. It doesn’t fully reach their eyes.

“Right back at you. Are you alright?”

Her eyebrows pinch together and he sees a flash of pursed lips before she’s leaning in and wrapping him in a hug. It’s nice, he thinks as he returns the gesture. Her hair tickles his nose, but her arms are warm where they rest around his shoulders.

She steps back after a moment. “Ren’s at my base. We should really go.”

“Yeah ok,” he nods, holding out his rockets. “I’m ready.”

They take off together, the twin bursts of rockets leaving behind a trail of dust as they lift up into the air and steady out over the landscape. Buildings pass below, connected by paved roads and dark oak forests. He sees a few distant people walking below and some even flying around.

Cleo veers right, passing a towering bone hand and two large buildings before the ocean and a floating island comes into view.

It truly is a stunning base.

The dark towers and prismarine roofs are bold and powerful, but the whole area is softened by lush gardens and crawling vines. Sculptures of various people appear in windows and through doorways and hint at the life and love hiding just inside.

Cleo leads them inside, through a grand throne room and past a room of cards. When they reach a secluded door, she finally pauses.

“You can leave your elytra in here if you want,” she offers, opening a nearby barrel and placing her own inside.

He fumbles with his for a moment before placing it on top of hers. She nods and closes the barrel softly, turning towards the door.

“He’s in here.” She pushes open the door and gestures for him to go in first.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark room, but when they do, they are drawn to the man on the bed. He’s curled in on himself, tucked under a red cloak. His eyes are distant, unseeing, and even in the half light Martyn can see tears gleaming behind them, threatening to spill over.

“Ren?” he whispers, voice cracking over the word as he reaches out his hand, unsure.

Ren blinks, eyes struggling to focus towards the voice and a silence stretches over them. It’s suffocating and threatens to take over his already tight chest. For a long moment, the only thing he hears is the soft wheezing breath of Cleo in the doorway and the distant waves against the island below. And Ren just blinks. Blinks into the darkness. Blinks as a single tear trails down his cheek.

Martyn hesitates in the silence, looking on as Ren gathers his senses. It stretches long enough that he begins to believe that Ren hadn’t heard him. He wouldn’t ignore a direct call of his name, right? Martyn withdraws his hand, moving to tap his fingers on his thigh, anxious, unsure. Surely Ren just didn’t hear. Maybe he should ask again? He takes a breath in the stillness, opening his mouth, ready to speak again when a soft, broken voice burrows its way through the silence.

“Me Hand?”

At that, Martyn rushes forward, all hesitations thrown to the side as he falls to his knees by the bed, taking Ren’s hand in his own. “I’m here, My Liege.”

This close, he can see the tear tracks along Ren’s face, the way his laugh lines look so jarring against the furrow of his brow. His eyes are red, but not in the way they had been during The Games. Now, instead of irises shining with an unnatural color, they are a gray-blue surrounded with a redness only found in a man who is holding back far too many tears.

Ren’s hand is warm between his own.

“You’re here.” Ren whispers, as they meet each other’s gaze. His eyes seem to search, drinking in Martyn’s face with a look that feels like he’s afraid he will disappear. “How?”

There is a quiet chuckle from behind him and Cleo’s voice melds into their shared bubble of silence and not silence. “I might have called in a favor from Xisuma after you asked for him back at the museum.”

Ren gives them a shaky smile, something much closer to a grimace than Martyn prefers to see on his face. “Yeah, sorry about that my dudes.”

“It’s fine, Ren.” Cleo says, moving into his periphery to sit on the edge of the bed. She places a hand on Ren’s knee comfortingly. “Although, you did kinda space out there for a while after the tour. You kept asking for your Hand and I thought you meant Bdubs at first, but–”

Martyn whips his head around to look at her, a sudden fury rushing through him. “Bdubs?” he exclaims, something far louder than anything else being said. Cleo only rolls their eyes at him.

“Yes, Martyn. Bdubs. I thought I told you about Ren being king of Hermitcraft.” The words aren’t exactly unkind, but he can feel his hackles rise at the thought, the implication that anyone except himself could ever be Ren’s Hand.

And sure, she had mentioned to him that Bdubs had given him the crown and played that role, but that didn’t mean Bdubs could just take that from him during some silly copycat event. Martyn is Ren’s Hand. Ren is his King.

He feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, drawing his attention back to Ren. His King, who is now smiling so softly up at him, despite the tears still lingering just behind his eyes. “I missed you, Me Hand. But surely you must know that Bdubs could never replace you.”

How, Martyn wonders, is Ren able to make him crumble at just a small handful of words? To take such an outburst of emotions and cradle them so gently when he is so clearly fighting an emotional outburst of his own. Had it really been long enough for him to forget how Ren cares so deeply for those around him? How he dismisses fears of his own when someone else needs guidance?

Or, a voice in the back of his head whispers, is it that he had thought Ren had moved on? It has been so long since they last spoke, last touched hands, and even when they did it had been fleeting. Watcher assigned soulmates tugging them away from the possibility of rekindling what they once had.

But the hand in his own is warm and real and he’s certain Ren can see the war in his eyes as much as he can see one reflected back from his King’s.

“Do you really mean that?” Martyn asks, his voice now barely audible in the quiet room.

“Of course I do,” Ren whispers back, lifting their hands to press a soft kiss onto Martyn’s knuckles.

The surprised noise Martyn lets out lands somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he falls forward to tuck his head into Ren’s neck. “I missed you so much, my Liege.”

For a moment they sit in the quiet, breathing in each other’s presence. It’s nice, relieving, like releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He already feels lighter, more at home than he’s felt in years. Ren is here. Ren is safe. Ren missed him too.

Martyn starts to become aware of an ache in his knees where they are pressed against the hardwood floors. He shifts minutely and leans up to press more weight onto his arms.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve been on my knees for you, my Liege. These joints aren’t as young as they used to be.”

Cleo snorts while Ren, his lovely Ren, lets out the loudest laugh. It’s still tinted with tears, but it’s real and genuine and it’s music to his ears.

“Get up here, you old man,” Cleo says fondly, nudging Ren’s legs out of the way so she can slide across the bed. Ren shifts with her, sitting up to make space for him.

I’m younger than you!” Martyn deflects as he pulls himself up off the ground and onto the bed, earning himself a threatening glare and a pillow to the face. “Alright, ok, I earned that one.”

He delights in the way Cleo’s eyebrows scrunch together in a scowl and how Ren tilts his head back as he continues to laugh at their antics.

“Ok Ren,” Cleo prompts once the laughter dies down. Her words are direct, yet laced with concern. “What happened back there?”

And Martyn sees the way Ren hunches as he pulls the red robe tighter around his shoulders, how his eyebrows pull together and a frown takes over his features. There’s a hesitancy in his actions, like he is holding back. Making himself smaller despite the joy he usually finds in being at the center of a conversation.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, and Martyn’s not sure he’s ever heard him that subdued.

Cleo reaches out to place a hand on his knee. Something about the touch seems to relax him slightly. “Then what can we do to help?

Martyn, for all his love of words and jumping into action, sits in stunned silence watching the pair. Sure, he had seen Ren in the quiet, tense moments between battles, seen the way he would analyze their previous moves and strategy before marching on to the next task. He had seen the way he sometimes doubted if he was making the right choices, but still managed to talk through a solution.

And even in the calmer moments, curled up together to ward off the chill and loneliness of the night, never had he seen Ren unsure of his actions to this degree. Unsure enough to fold in on himself and hide away like he would be shamed for even admitting to his thoughts or actions.

For a moment the three of them just sit, waiting for Ren to collect his thoughts, watching how his face twitches with hints of fleeting expressions as he works out what to say next. He opens and closes his mouth a handful of times before settling on a statement that feels like a punch to the gut.

“I was never worthy of the crown.”

“What?” Martyn can’t help but exclaim, the words finally spilling from him without thought to the delicacy of the situation. “Of course you are! I mean just look at all you’ve done. I’ve never met anyone else who cares about his friends and subjects as much as you. You put so much time and attention into every detail, every plan, just to make sure no one is excluded or left behind. And you give so much of your time and resources and energy to everyone regardless of their rank. It’s so obvious to anyone that sees you, that you are a natural leader and anyone would be lucky to have you as their king!”

Martyn sees how Ren’s eyes widen at the outburst, how tears gather in the corners as he stares back.

“But, me Hand, you weren’t here when the shopping district fell to ruin. They hunted me down, I was slain in mine own labyrinth.” His hands rest in his lap, fingers fidgeting with the diamonds in his cloak. “I let them down. They needed a king who could improve the server and all I did was make it worse.”

“Ren, Martyn’s right.” Cleo says, lightly squeezing his knee.

“Of course I am!” Martyn interjects

“He’s right sometimes,” she jabs lightly before continuing. “You were an amazing king. Yeah you made mistakes, but who doesn’t, y’know? No one is holding that against you.”

“But the people grew tired of me. They hate these robes and everything I did.” His voice wilts. “I see the looks they give me. I barely see anyone in the shopping district anymore. It’s like they are avoiding me.” He takes a shaky breath. “I never wanted them to hate me.”

“Oh, is that what this is all about?” Cleo asks softly, leaning over to cup his face with her palm and guiding him to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, Ren. No one hates you. Not for what you did as king and not for any other reason.”

A tear finally breaks free and rolls down Ren’s face. His voice cracks when he speaks. “Thank you, Lady Cleo.”

She smiles fondly at him, soft in a way that Martyn has never seen. “Anything for you, Ren.”

They sit for a moment, quiet and still, before Ren takes a steadying breath, squares his shoulders and slides off the bed.

“Me Hand,” he announces, with a dramatic twirl to face them. The pose he strikes is tall, powerful, and authoritative, despite the tear tracks on his face and Martyn finds himself moving closer on the edge bed, sitting on his knees before him. “I think it is time for me to pass on my crown to the next in line.”

“What? Really?” Martyn exclaims, and Ren nods slowly at his incredulous question. Ren lifts an eyebrow at him and it’s then Martyn realizes what is happening.

Ren is offering them both closure. He is, in his own way, reaching out for this one final scene, one final moment, for them to truly be a King and his Hand. They’ve both been hurting, longing for a past that will never return. For a reign that was far too short and ended far too bloody. He’s offering this chance to wrap up this chapter of their lives by passing on the title, passing on the crown. To finally move on, to have this moment together.

An unguided Hand, now guided to freedom.

Martyn takes a breath, bowing his head in respect and allowing himself to slip back into his role as Ren’s Hand. “Who will it be, my Liege?”

And his King flashes him the brightest smile. “Why, it is Lady Cleo, of course!”

“Cleo?”

Cleo huffs, but joins the pair at the edge of the bed, her thigh brushing against Martyn’s own. With a small smirk, she joins their scene. “It would be an honor to wear the tiniest of crowns.”

“Then shall we starteth the ceremony?”

“Yes, my Liege.” Martyn agrees with a bow of his head.

His King stands tall and begins his speech to a crowd of two. “Hello, citizens of Hermitcraft! We have gathered today on this most glorious of occasions–”

Martyn snorts. “You make it sound like someone is getting married.”

“Hush,” Cleo retorts, elbowing his side. “I wanna hear where this is going.”

Ren, for his part, only gives them a small smile before continuing. “We are here today, because I have decided to step down as King of the Server. I know this might be a shock for some of you, but please hear me out, friends, and know that this is not a choice I make lightly.”

“As some of you must know by now, my popularity as King is dwindling. I’ve heard the rumblings of rebellion, I know the people want me gone. I know you are unhappy with the economy, with my Royal Emeralds. With me.”

It’s at this point, another tear pools out and makes its way down his King’s cheek. “This is why I have decided to pass on my crown.” His voice warbles. “Lady Cleo, would you please stand.”

“Yes, my King,” she says. They step into his space, brushing the stray tears from his face. When she whispers near his ear, it is almost too quiet for Martyn to hear, even in the otherwise silent room. “I’m proud of you.”

After moving to face him, she nods her head. She looks good there, next to Ren. She stands tall, red hair curling around her shoulders and her majestic blue dress already looks like it is worthy of royalty.

“Now presenting, Lady Cleo of Atlantis!” He speaks towards Cleo, towards the otherwise empty room. “As most of you already know, Lady Cleo is one of the knights of the square table and one of my most trusted advisors. She has put up with much of mine shenanigans. She is always around to tell me when I am being ridiculous, even if I choose not to heed her advice. They are smart and logical, and I know in my heart that the kingdom will be well taken care of in their hands!”

Cleo smiles. “Aw thank you, Ren.”

“Me Hand,” Ren addresses him, voice quieting. “It is time.”

Martyn stands, a tight feeling in his chest making itself known as he does. “Of course, my Liege.”

Ren takes his hands and pulls him close. His eyes are somber, yet determined. “Thank you, for all you have done for me. Your support, loyalty, and kindness have not gone unnoticed. Even in our years apart, I have wished only the best for you. But now, it is time for our reign to come to an end.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Martyn,” says the voice of his King, of his love, his Ren, who presses their foreheads together as he speaks Martyn’s name for the first time in far too long. “Would you please do me the honor of crowning the new king?”

Martyn breathes in. The smell of Ren’s shampoo surrounds him and he remembers all the nights spent in the snow fort, all the days spent crafting and trading and planning. The way Ren would brush kisses across his forehead in passing or jump into his arms in excitement. And now he breathes out into the dimly lit room, on a server that is not their own, in a castle that isn’t theirs. But still, in front of him is the same set of bright blue eyes. “As you wish, my love.”

Ren kneels.

And Martyn knows it is a final bow.

This is his last moment as King. Martyn’s final moment as his Hand. All they have done is through, and it’s time.

Martyn brushes Ren’s hair from his face, tucking a strand behind his ear. “It has been an honor serving you, my Lord.”

“And I you.” Ren whispers.

The crown is small, but Martyn holds it between his fingers with overwhelming care. The jewels shimmer in the soft light of the room. It’s different from the original crown of iron Ren had designed in secret back in their other world. Back when resources and tools were limited. That one had been rough, uneven, with dents along the edges and a single rare diamond held firmly in place. This new one is smooth, golden, and the numerous jewels around it display the wealth and prosperity of his kingdom. Oh how far he has come.

Martyn lifts the crown, and with it, the burden of being King. The weight of countless difficult decisions. The need for perfection and protection and poise.

The crown feels heavier than it has any right to be and yet there is a lightness in the air.

Cleo smiles when he turns to her. Her hand finds its way to rest comfortingly in Ren’s hair.

He places the crown on her head. Her red curls wrap around it like snakes who have just found their new treasure. It looks stunning, like it was made to fit her.

“Now introducing, King Cleo of Hermitcraft. Long live the king.”

Martyn joins Ren, kneeling before their new King and sighs, taking Ren’s hand in his own.

It’s over.

A new chapter has begun.

Cleo is the one who finally breaks their shared silence, extending her hands to help them up. “Oh come here, you two. You’re being far too serious for such a joyous day.”

Ren grunts as he stands. “You’re one to talk, King Cleo. How do you think the dead king feels?”

“I think being dead is a wonderful thing and I’m glad you’re giving it a go!”

Ren laughs. It’s light and magical and so very him. “Ah, I should have realized you had nefarious undead intentions!”

Cleo takes Ren’s jaw in her hands and guides him closer. Martyn watches as he turns to putty under her gaze. “If I had truly nefarious intentions, you would have known a long time ago.”

Ren licks his lips, glancing down at Cleo’s, which are now just a breath away from his own. “But, you are known to play the long game.”

“Hmm, I suppose I am. Time will tell then, won’t it?”

He hums an acknowledgment before she pulls him the final stretch, kissing him firmly.

The kiss is fairly short, but undoubtedly full of love. Martyn can’t help but watch, taking in the way Ren leans into her, his hands wrapping around her waist as her’s continue to cradle his jaw.

It’s nice, he thinks as they part, to be privileged enough to be privy to this moment of softness from Cleo. To see that Ren has been treated well in his time between the Games. It soothes a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t realized was there.

“I love you,” Ren says to her, voice gentle.

They stroke a thumb along his cheek. “Love you too. You did good today.” She glances over at Martyn. “You both did.”

He startles slightly at the genuine tone of the compliment. It’s few and far between when he is on the receiving end of their kind words. Not unlikely, but still, he wasn’t expecting to be included in their little moment.

Despite this, the words settle themselves across his shoulders like a warm blanket, and he can feel a light blush begin to color his cheeks. “Aw, thanks Cleo.”

She reaches out, offering Martyn a hand and a smile, guiding him into their space.

How very fitting it is.

A Hand and his Kings. Guided by them, towards them, to them. Pulled into their gravity, always finding his way into their orbit.

But maybe, just maybe, they were always meant to collide.

So when he falls into their space, Cleo’s hand is warm where it squeezes his own.

And Ren’s lips taste like coming home.

#hermitshipping #trafficshipping #hermitfic #trafficfic #treebark #zombiecleo #there's some queer poly stuff going on and they mean so much to me #i wrote this last year and it was posted as part of a friend fic exchange back in janurary #but i figured it deserved it's own post #happy 3rd life anniversary everyone #mermaid writes

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unexpectedly-haunted · 2 years

Text

Hey there demons! It’s me, another demon!

Double Life SMP fic, written after Session 3 about the Broken Hearts Club. Almost 2000 words, no warnings!

Plumes of smoke rise above the treeline, the darkness stark against the blue sky. It’s getting hard to breathe but the two figures around the burning logs keep moving, keep the chant going.

“Burn the log! Pet the dog! Croak the frog!”

Neither are sure how long they’ve been chanting for, but they’re more than committed now. They’re going to complete this spell or burn through all the trees at spawn trying. Or pass out from the smoke inhalation, whatever comes first.

“Burn the dog! Pet the frog! Croak the log- wait a minute!”

“Yeah, I think we’ve been mixing the words up, it’s fine! Keep going!”

“Pet the log! Croak the dog! Burn the frog!”

“Close enough!”

Despite their enthusiasm, the summoning remains unsuccessful and then the forest almost burns down, effectively ending the chant. Ren sits down, despondent amidst the ash, while Martyn goes to get more logs for the next attempt. He’s just making his way back to the circle when he hears someone approaching on horseback.

“Quick! I think she’s coming, start it again!” He rushes back into the clearing, throwing the new logs down. Ren jumps up, lighting them with a strike of his flint and steel, and again they circle the flames.

“Burn the log! Pet the dog! Croak the frog!”

The sound of hooves gets louder, and as Pearl gets closer, their chant picks up in volume. The words come easier, and something about their voices change. They hear each others' voice distort slightly, sense something rising beneath the surface, unaware it’s happening to themselves as well.

Pearl’s horse bursts through the clearing, Tilly close behind.

“No, no, no, no!” She cries, extinguishing the fires. “What’re you saying about my dog?! What’s going on?”

“We were petting the dog, we were croaking the frog, and we were burning the log to summon you!”

“We were summoning you, demoness, to this altar!” Ren proclaims, jumping up onto one of the logs to look her in the eyes.

“You yellow guys want to summon me? That’s not how this works.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the problem?”

“Hey now,” Martyn says, arms spread placatingly. “Pearl, consider- what’s the thing we all have in common?”

“I have no friends.” Comes the immediate response.

“Exactly!”

“Neither do we!”

“Hold on, no,” Pearl argues, “Ren’s got friends, he doesn’t count!”

“Nah, he’s been sworn off!” Martyn says, “BigB’s ditched him!”

Ren takes a moment to look mournfully off into the middle distance, as he is wont to do.

“Oh, is the dog lonely? Such a pity.” She croons, guiding her horse right up to him. “All that after you blamed your death on me.”

He kneels down on the log, bowing his head to her.

“We come to you with a proposition. And an apology.”

________________________

Later, the three new members of the Broken Hearts Club sit under the stars. The crackling of the campfire they’re gathered around accompanies Pearl’s humming, and they enjoy its warmth as sparks drift up into the night sky.

“Man, what is BigB even doing?” Ren says, wincing. He reaches out to take a piece of steak cooking over the fire. “My head’s been aching on and off day, and I know we broke up, but I didn’t think he’d try and hurt me like this!”

“Yeah, imagine deliberately hurting your soulmate, who’d be crazy enough to do that?”

“Shut up Martyn,” Pearl sighs, “You literally pushed Cleo off a cliff this morning.”

“It was a joke!”

“It was hilarious,” She agrees, “But that is kinda weird. I mean, snow buckets, cacti, drowning, fall damage, those are all pretty standard revenge plots, but those don’t give you head injuries.”

“Maybe he’s getting really creative,” Ren suggests, “or it’s just accidental damage? Like he’s been fighting skeletons who are laser-focused on headshots?”

He swallows a bite of steak with a grimace.

“Though you’d think healing would help either way, but let me tell you my dudes, this food is doing nothing.”

“Hang on, let me take a look,” Martyn says, leaning forward. “I can check to see if there’s any visible injury?”

“Oh, sure!”

He shuffles over and Ren obligingly lowers his head.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay?”

Martyn tucks some of Ren’s hair out the way, keeping his touch featherlight. He checks around the top and back of his head, finding no bruises, bleeding, nothing.

“Where’s most of the pain exactly?”

“S’mainly my forehead, like right at my temples.”

“Gotcha, okay let’s see-”

His voice trails off as he shifts Ren’s fringe to the side. From where his hair had been covering, are the beginnings of two stubby red horns.

“Uh, Pearl?” Martyn says, voice an octave higher than usual. “Can I get your professional opinion?”

Ren makes a concerned sound, but Martyn shushes him.

Pearl stands, and peers over his shoulder.

“Ah yep, what’d I tell ya! Bonafide demon, right here.” She claps Ren on the back, beaming. “Welcome to the club!”

“Ex-squeeze me?!”

“Um,” Martyn says, “Well. You’ve got horns now, apparently.”

“I- what?!”

“Teeny tiny little horns! Cute little baby horns!” Pearl flips down her hood, gesturing to the horns poking through her hair. “Yours are all teensy and round right now, but this is what they’ll look like eventually, taller and more pointed, see?”

“What.”

“Wow, scale of one to ten, how in denial were you about being a demon?”

Ren flails about, mouth hanging open.

“Dude, I thought this was roleplay! Like, you know, acting?!”

He laughs hysterically, hands gripping his hair.

“But Pearl’s actually a demon, and I- am too?”

Pearl looks pointedly at Martyn, meeting his eyes and then up to his forehead. He makes a frantic cutting motion at his neck, mouthing “Not the time.”

“I thought it’d be a fun way to make an alliance, but now BigB’s left me, and I’ve been consumed by the evil within!”

“Hey!” Pearl says, “That’s not what being a demon’s about! Having horns doesn’t make you a bad person, all it really does is make you better at magic, it’s kind of a sweet deal honestly.”

“Makes you better at black magic! The kind that corrupts the mind and soul! Only used by the most twisted and sadistic creatures, like you and I have been cursed to be forever mo-”

Martyn pushes him off the log. Ren falls with a thump, and gives him the most pitiful puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, offering a hand to help him back up. “You were getting way too into that.”

“And?” Ren takes his hand. “Dude, must you deny me theatrics in these trying times?”

“Oh, it’s really not that bad,” Pearl says, “You know how these worlds change you.”

“Changing when you go red isn’t the same as turning into a literal demon!”

“That’s not what I meant, c’mon, surely you know how important stories are here? The things you say and how other people see you have power, why do you think we’re demons?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Everyone rejecting me, saying I was cursed, that I was an omen, all of that builds up, and these worlds, they recognise it. You and BigB calling me a demon after you died was kind of the final straw, and now here I am!”

“So-” Ren tilts his head, frowning. “So, when those kinds of ideas become widely accepted, or strongly believed, the world- what, makes it true?”

Martyn’s gaze is drawn to the moon. He thinks about poetry, and a never ending darkness fading to white.

“Yeah, exactly! You’ve been here for a whole extra season than me, did you really not know?”

“No, I’d never thought about it like that,” Ren says, “This actually makes so much sense.”

“Right? Like, I bet BigB fully believed the soulbond meant you’d change to match your soulmate, so ta-da! He gets dog ears!”

“Oh my god! Pearl, you’re a genius!”

A log snaps in the fire, and Martyn startles, shaken from his thoughts. Overhead, clouds drift and cover the moon.

“You’re totally onto something here,” He says, “And no wonder people around Ren are so affected! You live for the drama, my liege.”

Ren’s ears lift up from where they’d been flat against his head.

“Like you don’t love it just as much, hand.”

Martyn shrugs, grinning. He’s about to reply in kind, but he stops, turning to Pearl.

“Hang on, if you’re a demon because of Ren and BigB, is Ren a demon because of you?”

“Uhhh, maybe?” She scrunches up her nose in thought. “Pretty sure it’s more complicated than that, but I just had a feeling that you were.”

“Dude!”

“These things just happen sometimes! Also, if you ditch me and make me a demon, I think it’s only fair for you to be ditched and also a demon.”

“Can’t argue with that, it is a pretty sweet parallel.”

“So… you alright now?”

“Better,” He admits, reaching up to tentatively touch his new horns. “Still sad about BigB though.”

“You deserve better than that cheating bastard!” Martyn says, impassioned. “Anyone who gives up having you as a soulmate clearly doesn’t know what they’re missing.”

“So true!” Pearl says, taking three wooden bowls from her inventory. “This whole soulmates thing is overrated anyway, having actual friends is way better.”

“You’re both right, but man, we had matching sunglasses and everything, I can’t believe he’d do that to me!”

Martyn gasps. “He got matching glasses, then went out to meet his secret admirer? The nerve!”

“I know what’ll help,” Pearl says, settling a cauldron over the fire. “Some soup!”

“Can we stir it together and pretend we’re the three witches from Macbeth?” Ren asks.

“You know it,” She grins, watching the water rise to a boil with mushrooms and spices at the ready. “Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, baby!”

And so three demons huddle around a cauldron, firelight flickering over their faces as they sing and laugh into the dead of night. How sinister, truly. What a heinous group of evildoers.

#double life smp #double life spoilers #rendog #pearlescentmoon #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #dlsmp fic #ghost writing

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