"I was climbing, now I'm falling- I've been pushed off by a man who has made it to the top and now defends it 'cuz he can…" (x)
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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season
Chapter 38 - “Tuesday: Tango's Long Night”
❤️ Read on AO3
💛 Start from Chapter 1
💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics
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Tango layers more anti-viruses in Scott's player file. This goes against everything he knows about corrupted code... Should he keep going? ... Or, without consent, do what he knows will actually save this man?
Meanwhile, Pearl balances Rhetoric, Scott, and Grian visiting her unit at the same time. Yeah, this is gonna go well.
# 1 of 7 of our monthly intermission chapters
(First 1,000 words under the cut)
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Tango
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Location: His studio, West Bailey Wall, Bottom Floor
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Tango does not often regret choosing a path of codework. He loves modding. He loves adding pretty details; he loves giving people what they want and polishing the rough edges off blocky faces and backs and butts. His species is classed as avian, though he last respawned under a waxing crescent and lacks the wings and feathers to show for it. He's got tiny talons, blaze rods, and hair that shifts into flames, and that's it. Coding the fluff-tipped tail he wears now was a challenge that captivated his brain since the start. How do add twitchy muscles to lower back? Apply tail to butt, haha. Meld it in. Let the mind control it. Do it beautifully so it's elegant and won't drop frames.
His tail isn't dexterous, but he wears it like a trophy- Adding a mammal tail to a species that’s meant to have feathers there, and not only making it twitch and curl instead of hang, but look natural, is one of the most difficult things you can ever do with aesthetic mods. He's thinking of forcing out the wings he would have under a stronger moon, but never really got around to it. The conversion time takes a kabillion years. You gotta be careful with wings anyway- they release a lot of body heat. Between's a lot cooler than the Nether, so you might fall over and croak. You ever seen strider wings? Yeah, guess how much heat they put out, even if they are tough and resilient around lava. Anyway.
Let's just say it's a good thing his office doesn't have a window. He works with a lot of film in here, so darkness is peak necessity. He's got two copper bulb lights up tonight. The glow's hazy, but at least it keeps his attention on his work, eyes all goggled up and tongue pinned beneath his teeth. Working with player files isn't like working with redstone wiring, with all its tangled tubes of dust and tiny caps that easily get lost and spill all over the stupid floor. Nah.
Code work uses the coding table, and it's a whole lot less messy. You don't need to be super accurate. It's a lot easier to tap a delete key and remove a string of words than it is to rip out a chunk of wires and get all huffy when your machine stops working. They should sell more partly assembled redstone machines in the market- more than, like, comparators. Except all the serious redstoners still won't buy 'em in case corners were cut in the process and because they have to take 'em apart anyway to modify 'em, so there you go. Fiddling and tweaking can really suck you in. It's kind of like making banners you're printing on your soul.
Tango does not often regret choosing a path of codework. But it's a good thing he doesn't have a window. He glances up only on occasion, staring at the chipped, gunpowder-streaked blocks that separate him from the rest of the world.
I should be with the pack right now.
Hey. Little recap for you: Most people aren't going to bed tonight. The hub flower got skadoodley-yoinked. Without its roots hooked in, everyone's comm is black; they're all off the system. There's no way on a server right now. There's no way out of one either. The phantoms are under contract; they can't just log people out right now. Hope they got fed, then.
Eh, they'll be fine. They've got souls in storage. Tango keeps working, checking details on his screen and typing on the table keyboard. What time is it? The sun's officially gone-zo at 14k. That was a while ago.
Do you remember our biology fritter-fratter from before Dog's Life began? 'course not- That was a long time ago. Well, no worries! we'll cover it again. See, the Nether doesn't have a day-night cycle. The heat waves shift. Sometimes the dimension cools. There's never a schedule to it, but when the heat's down, it's down (whether it's been hours, days, or weeks since the last lull). Nether creatures group together for sleepy times. If Tango played on some of those raw servers where traits are turned up to max, he wouldn't even survive the Overworld- Not without a lot of prep from his friends on the other side. Thank goodness for vanilla servers that even out the playing field.
Blaze don't really hang out alone in Between. When they do, they have to keep their internal fires up, and that can really drain the metabolism. The pack is warm. The pack is safety. And Tango's fingers tremble as he blinks his lashes, pushing through the dimension's fading warmth. Nightfall is here. Capture the Flag will be winding down. It's time to go to sleep.
He does his work. He chose this path. Scott's crystal floats on the crying obsidian block beside him, casting a white glow over his workspace. The goggles tune it out a bit. Tango yawns wide (like one of those lions in the emerald savanna biome), then realizes what he did and shakes his head back and forth. "Brrrr! Whatchu doing?" He smacks himself in the cheek. Hard. "Come on, man- He needs you."
He keeps typing. Scott's code is layered in anti-virus protections. Lots of stuff to dig through. Tango's got a book on the edge of his desk, open to a page about data conflicts, and he's still checking and closing loops. Scott didn't want to amputate. He didn't want a graft. "More anti-virus protections," he said, and he was serious.
"Are you sure? That- That probably won't work. If you wait too long, there's no chance a graft will take. That kinda sets you up for like, either being an allay with a prosthetic or just a vex."
"No grafts, please. Just tell me where to sign."
"Okay, buddy… but that's against medical advice. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"He prob'ly would've listened to Etho," he mutters, typing more. "I swear, everybody thinks I just do visuals: slap a little colored fire on this guy, slap some wings on her… Hey, just because I work in the aesthetics department, it doesn't make my license any less legit. I've been doing this almost as long as he has." Who scrubbed in to save Impy? Who helped him and Skizz with the soul-sharing? Who once patched BigB up when he got shot in the neck? That was a Tango original. Just me. Why is he even doing this? All evidence in book and mind is screaming that this isn't going to work.
Fingertips stall. Blank stare. Soft breathing.
Scott would've listened to my medical advice if I was Etho. Should he have tried harder? Should he have done more? He got the signature, Scott confirming exactly what he wanted. He really shouldn't go against that. It'd be medical malpractice at this point.
… Even though the anti-viruses aren't going to stop him from becoming a vex.
Which he's trying to avoid by using stupid anti-viruses.
[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]
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Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k
There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead.
Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this.
He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs. Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!
Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair.
Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.
He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.
His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?"
Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–
The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs.
One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles.
There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him.
"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"
Oh. Yes. That.
It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.
Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to.
Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly.
Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.
Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor.
Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step.
Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-
Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's.
He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.
Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before.
Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray.
He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further.
Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs, "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"
Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of!
But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons.
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