I write mcyt fics, among other things. Please feel free to read, reblog, and send asks!
Fics posted at random and without warning:)
Anyone looking to translate, make art, write something inspired by my work is free to do so, just link to the original fic or tag me (either or works) :)
-dm (she/they)
Psps if you want general mcyt content follow my main @simplydm
My favorite fics (of my own writing) (2022 edition)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hermits Helping Hermits is back for another Monday of helping however they can! And Rentheking has an interesting offer for them. Can Cleo and Joe pull it off before time runs out?
Having a cold was one thing. But having a cold while abruptly having to navigate a new world was even worse. Impulse’s head pounded right between the eyes. His nose was running a steady drip, skin raw from wiping at it. His breathing sounded loud in his own stopped-up ears, and he couldn’t stop coughing. And, unrelated to all of that, he was on the outskirts of a town he’d never seen before.
“Hello?”
Even to his stuffed up ears, he sounded terrible and pathetic.
“Oh, I hear someone! Hello?” an unknown voice replied.
Before him stretched green-roofed cottages, the backs of white houses. Someone had answered him, and that voice was what he went to, easily jumping onto the roof of the nearest house from the mountain at its back.
“Where are you? Show yourself!” the voice commanded.
Impulse climbed over the apex of the house and slipped down the other side, wiping at his nose as he went.
“Hi!” he said, his voice crackling.
A pink-haired woman was looking up at him, surrounded by the cobbled streets of a quaint town.
“You parkoured on my roof,” she observed.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Impulse dropped down onto the street as delicately as he could. His head was swimming. “I don’t know where I am.”
“Well, this is Critter City, Animalia,” The woman said slowly. She slowly moved closer to him, and Impulse had the strangest feeling that her head was larger then normal.
“Oh, wow.”
Impulse could have sworn that a frog on two legs walked behind her and opened a door. He sneezed wetly, feeling woozy.
“Ew, what is going on with your face?” the woman asked, and Impulse swore her facial features didn’t move as she moved closer to him. Through the haze of his sickness it almost looked like a mask.
“I’m just sick,” Impulse mumbled. He felt very tired all of a sudden, everything that had and was happening to him culminating in a full-body shut down. “Do you have a bed I could take a nap in? I just need to lay down for a minute. It’s been… a day. There was a rift.”
“Uhh….” The woman looked around. “There’s a tavern over there, but-”
“I’ll pay you later, I run iBuy so I’m very rich.”
Impulse stumbled past her and into the place she’d pointed to. There were a few other patrons in the tavern, and they made odd murmuring sounds as he made his way past their tables. He pulled himself up the stairs and pushed open the first door he saw. A simple red bed was pushed against a wall, and it was the single most beautiful thing Impulse had ever seen in that moment.
“I don’t- who even are you, anyway? What’s going on?” The woman had followed him up the stairs, sounding confused.
“When you find out, let me know,” Impulse replied, and then his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep in an instant.
——
Impulse’s dreams were as confusing and indescribable as his entire experience so far in this new world had been. He caught bits of conversation that he couldn’t decipher as real or imagined. Voices he knew, others he didn’t. He tossed and turned, his body flirting with a deep sleep and a deeper need to wake up, resulting in a marriage of the two that felt wholly uncomfortable.
Eventually, time must have passed, and he roused ever so slightly. His mind was quiet, enjoying a pleasant breeze across his warm skin. His eyes stayed closed, heavy with sleep. His ears picked up on whispers best they could, just to give Impulse’s mind something to do. It was hard to make out what was being said. Impulse swallowed hard.
“You know… if he dies, we could eat him.”
At that, Impulse found the energy to sit up and open his eyes.
There were two shrill screams when he did so, and he turned to see a small woman and what was unmistakably a goblin cowering in a corner.
Memories hit Impulse in flashes as he burst into a coughing fit. Grian had that rift in his basement, had invited everyone to go through it. Stupidly, most of the hermits had done just that. Impulse remembered the brief hint of fresh air when he’d stepped into wherever this was, the flash of confusion when he turned around and saw Pearl unexpectedly dressed in different clothes and a sunflower crown, and then being on a roof, separated from everyone. It was kind of hazy after that. He felt like he’d risen from the dead, but his body hadn’t quite caught on yet.
He stared at the two still huddling in the corner of the room. The woman he remembered somewhat- she had been the first and only person to talk to him when he’d stumbled around on that rooftop. Looking at her now, the face he’d assumed was a feverish misinterpretation was most certainly a mask. The goblin was new.
“Please don’t eat me,” Impulse said, although it came out more high pitched and nasely then he wanted it to.
“You sound awful,” the goblin said with a giggle, inching closer with the woman in tow. “Who are you, strange man?”
“I’m Impulse,” Impulse responded. He still felt pretty sick, and suppressed a cough that hurt his lungs.
“Nice to meet you, Impulse. I’m fWhip,” the goblin said with a hand to his chest, “and this here is Mayor Lizzie.” He waved a hand at the pink haired lady, who batted at his hand playfully. “Say, you’re not part of those Hermits that showed up the other day, are you?”
“I am!” Impulse perked up a little at the mention of his friends. “Are they okay?”
“They’re fine, just completely running amock in our kingdoms,” Lizzie grumbled.
“I should be going, I guess. My friends will be worried about me, and I should set them straight on all of this running around.”
Impulse swung his feet out of bed and started to stand up, but everything swam in front of his eyes, and he sat back down heavily. He put his head between his knees.
“Okay, maybe in a minute,” his coughs started up again, forcing him to sit up straight.
“There is no way you’re leaving,” fWhip said, shaking his head.
“There isn’t?” Lizzie asked in dispair.
“Lizzie, the man can’t even stand, and you want him to go wander into your town trying to find an exit? You’re the mayor of this town, what will it say about your reputation if a visitor terrorizes and infects everyone in town, or if he dies in your inn?”
Lizzie made a few scoffing noises that almost sounded like a cat yowling, but eventually just sighed. “Fine. But if he does die, me and my townsfolk will be gorging ourselves on his innards.”
“It sounds like you need some medicine and sleep,” fWhip stepped forward to block Lizzie slightly, as if to hide what she had said. He held a bottle of red liquid out to Impulse. “This should help.”
“What is it?” Impulse asked weakly, holding the bottle close to his face and swishing the contents around. It moved like soup- there were definite chunks of something in there.
“Medicine to help with illness!” fWhip replied cheerfully. “Lizzie and I whipped it up ourselves!”
Impulse eyed the two warily. “She wants to eat me, and you aren’t a human. Why on earth should I drink this?” His head pounded though, and just the idea that the red liquid could provide relief was pretty compelling.
fWhip sighed. “Fine. We went to the local witch and she brewed it for us. It’s a health potion, it has a sticker on the bottom of the bottle that says so.”
Impulse found that to be true, and still with some hesitation, drank it all. A cooling comfort washed through his exhausted body, and without a thought to decorum, laid back down and went to sleep.
——
Impulse awoke to the feeling of someone swiping something rough across his forehead over and over again. He gasped, eyes flying open to see a pair of blue eyes staring at him. But no, it couldn’t be, the eyes were clearly painted onto a smooth mask. Anyone could see that close up. Those observations clashed through his head like a ravenger in a pottery shop, and he sat up abruptly to steady himself.
“Um, hi?”
“Hello. How are you feeling?” Lizzie asked, backing away slightly.
Impulse took a moment to assess. He felt well-rested, finally, and his head wasn’t pounding. His throat was scratchy and dry, but then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank water. He felt more awake, alert.
“Doing better then I was,” Impulse replied. “I think I may have to stay here and rest for at least another day, but I’m definetly on the mend. Thank you for letting me stay here, I know I’m taking up far too much hospitality here.”
“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” Lizzie grumbled to herself, although Impulse could hear it clearly even though his stuffed-up ears. “I mean, of course, you’re welcome. Any time, but I hope this is the only time really, haha.”
Impulse decided to ignore all of that. “So, what were you doing when I woke up?”
“Uh… I was wiping your face with a cloth,” Lizzie said shiftily, hands very clearly empty.
“Very scratchy cloth, I guess. Felt like sandpaper,” Impulse commented suspiciously, feeling at his face, then froze, hand against the skin of his chin.
“Why is my beard gone?”
Lizzie froze, and that action alone was guilt enough for a sentencing.
“Did you… shave me?” Impulse felt the incredulity rise up inside him like water about to boil. He felt an urge to laugh, but hacked out a cough instead.
“I thought it would be funny,” Lizzie whispered. “Wanted to see what you looked like under your fur.”
“My what?” Impulse asked, but was inset with a coughing and sneezing fit.
“Ew, ew, ew, what is coming out of your face?” Lizzie gasped when he’d finished, the masked face hurtling to stare close at Impulse’s nose.
“It’s snot,” Impulse replied bluntly. “I need something to wipe it with. You don’t get snot?”
“I- uh- I mean, of course I do, I have snot every day!” Lizzie sounded nervous. She ripped the sheets off of the other bed in the room and handed them to Impulse. “For the snot.”
“Thanks,” Impulse blew his nose hard.
Lizzie, to his surprise, scrambled in midair at the noise and dashed out of the room. Impulse finished blowing his nose, and after a few minutes she came back in, hunched over a little bit.
“I, uh, had to help another guest at the inn real quick,” Lizzie said haltingly, clearly lying.
Now, Impulse considered himself a little clueless sometimes, but even he could tell that this lady was acting deeply suspicious. There was something about her look that was so off, and that was beyond the face mask she was clearly wearing. If you weren’t thinking about it her features just looked a little big for her small body, but Impulse couldn’t not pay attention to it now that he knew. And there had been that whole thing about her wanting to eat him. She’d said that, right? It wasn’t just a fever dream?
“Are you wearing a mask on your face?” Impulse asked her.
“You know, I bet you’re hungry. Let me go russle up some grub, as they say,” Lizzie said in reply, and dashed out of the room again.
Well, that answers that, Impulse thought. He considered that it might be culturally rude to talk about someone wearing a mask here. It wasn’t really a big deal, just mildly unnerving. He decided to keep his observations to himself while under her care. He certainly hadn’t gotten any confirmed information from her by asking questions, anyway. Their conversation just before had been disjointed and disorientating enough.
Impulse slowly got to his feet, his joints and muscles protesting. He went to the window and cracked it, breathing in the fresh air. Outside sprawled a magnificent city, roads weaving through the residences on either side. The city was divided into clear sections by color palette, which Impulse found interesting to look at. There was lots of activity going on in the city streets, the residents walking about and talking with each other. It was peaceful to watch everyday life go on for these residents.
This place isn’t so bad, Impulse thought.
A coughing fit overtook him, and he hunched over to let it run its course. When he straightened up again, the residents on the street below were all staring up at him with green, froggy faces. Impulse stared back at them for a second, uncomprehending, before flattening himself against the wall next to the window, heart racing. Frogs. Frogs? Impulse knew what he’d seen. He peeked out the window just to make sure. They’d gone back to their shopping and chatting, but those residents were unmistakably green frogs walking on two legs.
Impulse sat back down on the bed, a headache pounding dully between his eyes again. Even still muddled from sleep and sickness, his brain began whirling, trying to piece together how exactly Lizzie had made, or perhaps found, bipedal frogs. A hazy memory returned to him, one from his time staggering up to this bedroom just a day or so ago. There had been foxes too. Drinking from the bar. He stopped trying to think so much, it really hurt his head.
“The grub has been rustled,” Lizzie came back into the room holding two bowls in a proud kind of way. “It’s a good thing I’m here to provide food and drink for you, or else you’d surely die.”
“Well, I mean, maybe. You know, colds don’t usually kill. Do you guys not have colds here?” Impulse asked, accepting the first dish from her- a huge bowl of water. He drank from it instead of questioning it, considering how many times he’d ruffled feathers by inquiring too much.
Lizzie made a little disbelieving noise, like she was also about to question something, but cleared her throat and held out the other dish. “Okay, and I have a meal here with plenty of protein. Does protein help a cold?”
“It can’t hurt, that’s for sure,” Impulse said with a chuckle, taking the bowl. “I’m just grateful for…”
He trailed off. There was a mouse in the bowl. A dead mouse.
“It’s a mouse,” Impulse said. It was a fair observation.
“Yes,” Lizzie replied. “Looks good, right? I just caught it.”
Are mice a delicacy here? Impulse wondered. His stomach turned at the thought.
“You know, that’s very nice of you, and I’m flattered, really. But I think I need to eat something less… raw right now.”
Lizzie pulled the bowl back. “Like what?”
“What about some chicken soup?”
“What on earth is that?” Lizzie asked.
And so that’s how Impulse found himself in the kitchen, surrounded by waist-height bipedal animals, cooking and explaining chicken soup. If it hadn’t smelled so strongly like animal, Impulse would have thought the whole thing was another fever dream.
——
A whole day later, after another long night’s rest, Impulse was feeling a lot better. He had nothing to his name, so he just walked down into the tavern, nodding to a few of the froggy residents and pretending like that was a normal thing to do. Lizzie was behind the bar, preparing what was clearly a bowl of milk, and rushed over to him.
“You’re up! And down here! Are you leaving?” She sounded thrilled.
“I am, I feel well enough to be on my way now.” Impulse said, smiling down at Lizzie. “Grian messaged me coordinates, so I know where to go, but could you direct me out of the city so I don’t stomp on your rooftops again?”
“Yes, please, don’t step on my roof again. Come, this way.”
Lizzie lead him out of the bar and through the maze of streets. The bipedal animals watched him pass, murmuring to one another. Being on the streets among the creatures, and not stricken with fever this time, Impulse was still unnerved by the sight of frogs and foxes on two legs.
Lizzie showed him to a road that twisted away into the forest outside of the city. Impulse double checked his coordinates and sent a quick message to Grian that he was on his way back. He took in a deep breath, the air a little fresher here. Thank goodness he hadn’t been able to smell before this.
“Thanks for everything.” Impulse told Lizzie, bowing slightly. “I’m sorry for stepping on your roof and crashing in your tavern.”
“Yeah, you should be,” Lizzie said sincerely. “But, if you or your friends are an animal, please let me know, I’d be interested in meeting them.”
Impulse nodded, knowing he’d warn all the hermits about Critter City and their mayor the second he got to them.
“Okay, well, bye.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake.
Lizzie looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him. She swiped at his hand, like some new iteration of a high five. She looked up at him, and Impulse felt like the masked face was leering at him, those wide blue eyes lifeless. She raised a hand to hit his own again. Impulse turned and walked away quickly. Maybe he wasn’t as well as he thought, because he could have sworn that he had seen a fluffy cat’s tail flicking behind Lizzie’s back. What a strange place, with an even stranger mayor.
Rat Shelby had built bunk beds, which was awesome, and she even let Tubrat take the top bunk. After a long day of singing and ratting about, Tubrat was sure that sleep would come quickly for him. Rat Shubble and him had gorged themselves on carrot tops and pork that the other rats in the attic had donated to them so kindly, and the bunk bed was quite cozy. Rat Shubble fell asleep almost instantly, quicker then she ever had before.
But Tubrat couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his ratty bed, nosing at the pillow and blankets that he’d already turned into a nest for himself. More then any discomfort, though, were the constant stream of thought that ricocheted around his brain like a rat in a cage. He’d started this day in the cupboard- a dark and worrysome place, for sure, but familiar all the same. And now he was in this attic, in a world full of living rats that ate bread and carrot tops and built houses and bars. His head still felt swimmy from the shock of it all. He’d done a concert, talked to everyone he could, made trouble with The Big Rat Who Makes All The Rules, and confessed…
Tubrat turned to his other side, closing his eyes resolutely. He had another concert to plan tomorrow, and there was an idea in the back of his mind concerning The Big Rat Who Makes All The Rules that needed proper fleshing out. He’d done his confession, he didn’t need to think about it anymore. He’d done the same on Rat Shelby’s behalf too, so she didn’t have to think about it anymore either.
He wondered if she was still hungry like he was. He wondered if she would ever forgive him.
Tubrat sat up, the thoughts rudely making home in his mind. Rat Shelby was his friend, his cupboard buddy, she would never abandon him after all they’d been through! He shuffled out of bed, dropping silently to the floor and letting out a soft sigh of relief to see Rat Shelby still lying in her rat bed. He watched her sleep, something he did fairly frequently in the cupboard. It was twofold, really. Check to see if she’s alive. Check to see if she’s dead. A rising and falling chest meant continued companionship. Stillnesss… well, it was a joy in its own right.
Rat Shelby was breathing.
Good.
Tubrat was hungry. It reared out of him like a snake about to strike. This deep, horrific hunger that took hold of every sinue in his ratty body, hot like fresh blood, dizzying him like a blow to the head.
Rat Shelby turned in her sleep, squeaking contently as she burrowed into a ball. She looked more relaxed here then she ever had in the cupboard. Tubrat backed away from her. Maybe he should go back to bed.
He turned around, and before him was the cupboard. A hulking pair of double doors, handles like eyes of a god watching him approach. The tile floor was cold against his rat feet. He blinked, hard, his vision swimming and stuttering. He didn’t remember walking down here. It was dark down here in the house, night muffling any sign of life. Everyone should be sleeping. He should be sleeping.
He turned to scamper away, trying to remember where the rat-sized stairs to the attic were, but ultimately turned back. How funny, he thought, dazed, that escaping the cupboard prison would only make him yearn to return. He stared up at those imposing doors, transfixed.
The food had gone pretty fast. Tubrat had determined that pretty quick, his stomach an aching hole as he had scoured every inch of the place. That is, besides the ratlings two shelves down, huddled together for warmpth, dying right along with them.
Tubrat never told Rat Shelby about the ratlings, just played along in modest suprise when he brought back those burgers for them both. Rat Shelby was too weak and hungry to question him. The ratlings had been pretty easy to snuff out. Even Tubrat, who was considerably smaller then Shelby Rat even when they were both starved, could end their lives with just a simple twist of his paws.
His paws twitched at his sides reflexively.
There was no bad in the cupboard, only survival. These other rats, from farms and city gutters, they didn’t know how good they had it. Acting so offended and shocked when Tubrat had made his confession to them, to and for Rat Shelby. Like they wouldn’t do the same thing if it came down to it. Tubrat had seen the looks on their ratty faces, the way they talked to him. Tubrat was full of ideas, good ones even, and yet the others kept their distance, their smiles fixed.
Tubrat just wished Rat Shelby had understood. She wouldn’t have minded if they were still in the cupboard, Tubrat was sure of it.
Everything had changed. Tubrat was looking in on what had once been his entire world, now knowing it was contained in something much bigger.
Been working hard (15 min a day tbf) on a chaptered (woah? Not a ficlet for once? Wow dm!) fic that is 2/3rds done (oh my god it’s taking so long) anyway here’s a sentence
I just went looking for an old fic in my files and i completely forgot the diabolical way I labeled documents back in my daily writing 2022 phase
“Dm that’s not so bad a lot of people don’t label their documents” no no you don’t understand. Each document is a weeks worth of fics. I just put 7 days worth of fics into one document for ???? for what reason, dm???
Hey sorry for spamming you so much I'm just severely hyperfixated on the dsmp again and wanted to say that your work has spoken to me like no other piece of media ever? I don't know I'm not very good at describing things or speaking but your writing feels so introspective if that makes sense and it's making me lose my mind and it's so good and even though I'm having a mental breakdown from reading your fics I want to say thank you so much they make me shake and throw up and sob and rip my hair out and I don't know what's happening to my body but thank you so much your writing makes my brainworms slither around and I feel them wrapping around my neural pathways thank you thank you thank you and I've always always ALWAYS LOVED the concept of the dsmp from an outsiders perspective and you doing that with Michael mcchill just scratches the itch in my soul and I didn't even know anything about Michael's lore but now I'm so interested and I'm shaking and oh my god thank you so much I love you
Sorry for my incoherent manic ramblings
Sorry it took me a few days to see this, but thank you so much for the complements! It was honestly so nice to see both your tags in my notifs and be reminded of the dsmp fics I’ve done.
Michael McChill had such interesting lore with his radio show, it always felt like he was the right fit for a person to be the outsider pov (I think he has two short vods on a vods channel of his called serenity that are his big lore).
Thanks for reading my stuff:) it’s always appreciated
Mumbo had a fair few things to do today. As he got out of bed, put on his jeans and plaid shirt, he mentally ran through the list. Someone was coming from Hermitcraft Communications to put in a 5G tower in about an hour, so he had to be presentable for that. His shipment of fresh greens for his geese should be arriving today, so he had to be on the lookout for that package.
He grabbed a loaf of bread from the kitchen and suddenly remembered he’d forgotten to take the trash out last night. He wasn’t normally awake to see the trash off, as it was done in the early hours of the day, even for an early riser like him. He grabbed the can and put it outside- the sun was just peeking over the mountains now, catching the windmills’ arms in its steadily growing golden light. Mumbo paused in his stride, took a deep breath of the fresh and cool air.
There was a rustling behind him, and he turned just in time to see a figure at his trash can, dumping its contents into a shulker box. Mumbo squinted- was that Pearl? It was; she looked up and waved at him, dressed not in her firefighter uniform she’d been sporting all season, but a green overall situation. She waved at him and flew off.
Mumbo had heard that she’d really leaned into being a trash collector person back in season nine, although he hadn’t been around much to see it for himself. It hadn’t occured to him that she might still do the trash collection- up until this moment, Mumbo honestly hadn’t given a single thought to who might collect the trash every morning.
Mumbo looked out over his wheat fields for a bit, admiring how the golden waves got even more saturated with color as the sun rose. He drank some tea and then went back inside his house. The fields needed weeding, and then he was going to build some custom trees. And he had to direct the person putting in his 5G tower.
There was a knock at the door right as Mumbo finished strapping his knee pads into place. He rushed to the front door and opened it.
“‘Ello Mumbo! Good to see you again.”
Mumbo did a double take as he looked at Pearl, again. She wasn’t wearing the uniform of the trash worker now, but some jeans and a shirt.
“Pearl? What? Didn’t I just see you, like, half an hour ago?”
Pearl chuckled amusedly at him. “You know, we hermits are allowed to see each other more than once a day. And I’m on official 5G tower duty now, so no dwaddling about. Where, sir, would you like your 5G tower to go?” Pearl pulled a clipboard from her inventory and flipped a page. “I have your contract all here for signing, but for transparency’s sake, I wanted to remind you that this tower will also be an operational fire tower, in collaboration with Hermitcraft’s firefighting agency.”
“Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Mumbo said, even though it didn’t, really, and signed the papers given to him at once. He was moreso wondering how exactly he’d missed Pearl being both the trash pickup lady and the 5G tower installer. He made a mental note to leave a nice letter for her with tomorrows trash, because he felt a little guilty about his obliviousness.
He showed Pearl the area he’d cleared for her to build in, although, he admitted with a red face and an awkward scratch to the back of the head, he’d been thinking about building a tree there instead. Pearl was nothing but warm and kind, and together they found a new spot. Pearl thanked him, then told him to go on and work on his trees.
A few hours later, to Mumbo’s shagrin, Pearl was finished building the entire tower, and Mumbo had a few spindly trees to show in exchange. He sputtered and gasped and gawked at the gorgeous tower that had popped up, almost flying into Pearl herself in the tower.
“Wha- how? Oh my god, this is- I am, well, I’m speechless, really. How did you manage all this in just a few hours? I’ve only managed to build three trees, Pearl!”
Pearl patted him on the shoulder, giggling. “You forget- I have a blueprint, while you are working in organics. But I appreciate the complement.”
“Do you take, like, breaks between your builds, go for a walk or anything?” Mumbo asked Pearl as they flew down to the ground together.
“No, not really. Lots to do. I’d rather just keep pounding along, you know? If I didn’t have some other things to get to today, I’d probably just go on over to Grian’s place and set up his tower.”
Mumbo gwacked at her. “God, I have to have a walk, a sip of tea, pet my dog, something between every tree’s completion! I can’t imagine just going and going on with no pauses.”
Pearl glanced at her communicator. “Well, speaking of no pauses, I’m afraid I do have to dash off. Other things to do and all that. I’m glad you like your tower,” she smiled at him, blue eyes just about level with his own. “Your trees are beautiful. You should be very proud.”
And she was gone, and Mumbo was left thinking about an upside down house filled with secret task books and deflecting her warm complements with awkward laughter. She’d learned that leaving means he can’t deflect, it seemed. He chuckled to himself, looking out at the trees he’d built. They were pretty nice, weren’t they.
Mumbo went back to his house, deciding then and there to write a letter to Pearl to thank her. He wrote it while he ate lunch, addressed it to her address. He was considering walking over to her base to deliver it when there was a knock at the door. Mumbo opened the door to a huge box in his face.
“Delivery for Mumbo Jumbo!”
“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Mumbo said, taking the box from the delivery person’s hands, his face smooshing against the side. He turned to set it down out of the way, grunting a remark at how heavy a box of leafy greens could be.
“Just need you to sign for me, good sir.”
Mumbo paused, bent over the box. There was no way, but he could swear that that voice sounded all too familiar…
“Pearl?”
And there Pearl stood yet again, in a sky blue and white uniform, a cap placed rakishly on her head. She had a mail satchel on her side, and was holding out another clipboard and pen to him. She was smiling at him, her chest rising with a giggle.
Mumbo took the pen and clipboard, a laugh of disbelief curling heavy in his chest. “How- what are you doing here again? And- wait, how long have you been doing the mail service?!”
“Only since last season,” Pearl said with a half shrug.”
“Only,” Mumbo echoed in disbelief, handing the clipboard back to her. “Pearl, I’ve seen you three times today. You’ve been working for a different company every time. You keep changing outfits.”
“And I’ve seen you three times,” Pearl replied, storing the clipboard away. “How lovely is that? I don’t usually get to see you on my mail run. And speaking of, got any outgoing mail for me?”
“I- I do, actually,” Mumbo fetched his letter, handing it over with a blush hot on his face. “It’s…”
Pearl looked at the recipient, and smiled. “I’ll make sure it gets to them. Bye now, Mumbo!”
Mumbo felt like he’d just been shot from Etho’s windcharge cannon without warning- dazed and confused. He watched Pearl walk away, wanting to shout a million questions after her, but not even sure what to ask. It was dawning on him that he just kind of assumed that things like mail and trash pickup had been done by some kind of server magic, a plug-in by Xisuma or something. He had known Pearl to always been industrious, but this was almost rediculous.
Mumbo eventually went to feed his geese and weed his wheat fields, the hard work pushing Pearl and the absurdity her three jobs out of his mind, replaced with daydreams of builds to come. He had just started placing some wool blocks on top of his future cityscape when he was punched off by Grian.
“Oh, hello Grian!” Mumbo greeted him.
“Mumbo, let’s get dinner,” Grian said in reply. “We haven’t hung out in ages, we’re like ships passing in the night.”
“I suppose I could go for a good meal and decent company,” Mumbo chuckled.
“Decent??” Grian squawked. “Excuse me, I’m a delight!”
After a quick shower, Grian lead Mumbo to a little resturant off to the side of the shopping district. It was pretty new looking, or at least Mumbo hoped it was, because he hadn’t even known there was a resturant on the server. They went in and sat down at a booth, perusing the options.
“‘Ello, ‘ello, welcome in.”
A cheerful and incredibly familiar voice interrupted Mumbo’s musings about wether to have more bread today. Mumbo felt his body close to exploding with mirth as he looked up to see none other than Pearlescentmoon standing before them, now wearing an apron over some jeans and a Decked Out II T-shirt.
“Pearl, don’t you dare tell me you work here too,” Mumbo said shrilly.
“Dude, don’t talk to wait staff like that, it’s so rude,” Grian admonished him. “I want a steak,” he said to Pearl.
“Oh, it’s quite alright, Mumbo here’s been seeing me all over the place, poor thing,” Pearl replied good naturedly, scribbling down Grian’s order. “I liked doing resturant work so much from Hungry Hermits last season that I sometimes take orders here. What would you like, Mumbo?”
“A loaf of bread and a potato, I suppose.” Mumbo said after too long of a silence where he just stared at her.
“Easy peasy, coming right up,” Pearl tapped her pen against the notepad and walked off to the kitchen.
“Dude, have you never seen a person work in a restaurant before? Stop staring,” Grian flicked Mumbo’s forehead.
“You don’t understand, G,” Mumbo took Grian’s forefinger and thumb, looking into his eyes to implore someone aside from himself to see the bizarreness of it all. “She’s not just the waiter. She picks up our trash. She delivered my package. She put in a 5G tower really quickly between those other two jobs. I feel like I’m going crazy here!”
“Why, because Pearl has a few jobs?” Grian shrugged. “Sounds like a personal issue to work through, mate. She’s always dashing around. I don’t think I’ve seen her stop moving longer than two minutes. Must be all that Hungry Hermits training. That was fun- do you remember when we did that? We used to do things together.”
“Alright, now you two lovelies enjoy your date, and just close the door behind you. I have to dash, unfortunately. Got another tower to build before the sun sets,” Pearl told them, taking off her apron.
“Wait, don’t we need to pay you or something?” Mumbo said to her, a kind of mad desperation in his voice. He felt like he should do something, show that all her work was noticed, even though he hadn’t noticed a thing until today.
“Oh, its all good, I don’t accept tips.”
“Cheap, I like it,” Grian said. “I had forgotten my wallet anyway.”
“Quick question, Pearl. Do you get paid for any of your jobs?” Mumbo asked. “Or is it all just a love for the game?”
“I just like keeping busy, you know,” Pearl replied with a nod. “A smile on my friends’ faces is all the payment I need.”
“And thank god for that, because I hate paying for things,” Grian quipped. Everyone ignored him.
“I- okay, well, bye Pearl. Thank you?” Mumbo called after Pearl’s retreating form. “You know, it’s funny, I never see Pearl normally, but today I’ve seen her everywhere I go.”
“And I never see you, Mumbo. Now what’s all that about?” Grian replied, and the two devolved into catching up over their meal.
After eating, Grian and Mumbo took a stroll around the up-and-coming shopping district. Scar was building it, which meant Mumbo got a chance to study a master’s work up close, gushing to Grian over the intricacies and choices. They talked of building, of plans and what the other person had missed in their lives. And then, Grian had an idea.
“Let’s do something fun,” Grian said, a sudden mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Let’s set something on fire. For the plot,” he pulled out a flint and steel.
“Grian, that seems like a bad- Grian!” Mumbo shrieked as Grian set a tree near the shopping district on fire. It was close enough to Scar’s custom trees that Mumbo felt cause for alarm. He scrambled for his communicator.
<mumbo: FIRW!!!!>
<Grian: fire.>
“Oh Grian, why would you do that? The whole place is going to burn!” Mumbo moaned, flapping his hands at the fire.
“She’s got ten seconds before she’s surpassed her quickest time,” Grian said to himself, a stopwatch running on his communicator.
“Grian, what-”
And then there was a siren. A figure appeared in full firefighter gear, flying towards them at top speed. They screeched to a halt in front of the two, the siren sound still playing from the goat horn in their hand. The person lifted their helmet to glare at them, and of course, it was-
“Pearl!?” Mumbo screeched.
Pearl rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on Mumbo, you knew this one, my base theme is literally ‘fightfighter’ this season.”
“I- well, yes, I now am remembering that, I just- what don’t you do?” Mumbo stuttered.
“Well, someone’s gotta do it all,” Pearl replied, pulling out a water bucket and hurling it onto the raging flame. It took a few more buckets and some swatting about, but Pearl got the fire out soon enough.
“You beat your best fire reaction time by five seconds,” Grian told Pearl with a devilish grin.
She took out a second bucket of water and dumped it unceremoniously on Grian’s head. “And that’s for starting your tenth fire this season. It’s a new part of the firefighter code- we dump water on any person who gets to ten fires started. I’m going to get some punch cards made up when I get the time.”
“I wasn’t part of it, only an unwilling accomplice,” Mumbo said quickly when Pearl feigned a bucket throw at him.
“Good. I may still have to come by and do a fire safety training for you sometime, boy. Firefighter’s gotta keep unwilling accomplices from becoming arsonists like their friends,” Pearl said with a chuckle. “But glad I could save the day.”
“So you pick up trash, deliver mail, install towers, wait on tables, and fight fire. Pearl, I feel like I’m going to see you in my dreams next! Do you run the entire world or something?” Mumbo asked her.
Pearl hummed. “Dreams? Only sometimes, when they’re farming related. But it’s not all that much I do, really. You’re giving me too much credit,” she patted him on the shoulder, then flew off before Mumbo could respond.
“Do… does anyone else actually do anything on this server, or is it all just Pearl? Does Pearl run the world?” Mumbo asked, flabbergasted, turning to Grian, who could only shrug soggily in response.
