AU where Karl is a normal person and anyone who dies in the town comes back to life at the end of the week. read pinned post for more info. asks are welcome!
Okay so, TFTSMP AU sorta? For the wild west episode at least.
So, the wild west. Basically, Karl is just a normal person who grew up in that time period like every one else. No time travel shenanigans. Just a normal human who is looking for his place in the world.
Everyone else is exactly the same. Same roles, same personality, same names.&I'm taking the one throw away line of "He'll probably be back in about three days" from John John in reference to the priest and say that anyone who dies in the town comes back to life at the end of the week. Why? Idk, maybe the priest made a deal with the devil. Maybe the land was cursed. Maybe the town is on another plane of existence. Who knows.
Also when you revive you come back at the exact age you were when you first died in the town. Does the town have a name? I'm naming it Lazarus. The town is named Lazarus now. So, sorta fountain of youth situation going on.
So the wild west story happens as normal, with Karl being the first person to stumble into the town in probably a few years at that point. So, instead of walking off at the end, he asks sheriff Sherman to teach him how to be a sheriff since he has no experience or any clue what he's doing. Maybe he planned on leaving but didn't want John John's sacrifice to be in vain so he decided to stay.
In the next two days he doubles as the bar owner and sheriff in training. When he wakes up on the third day, Mason and Jack have broken in to his room and are just chilling threateningly. This of course freaks Karl out because, well, they died, he knows they died, he killed one of them himself. His next thought is "hey, they look hot when being threatening. Wait-"
They take him to the church where he meets the priest (Dream), reunites with John John (he cries a little), and gets the whole resurrection thing explained to him.
Cue enemy to lovers, slow burn with wacky hijinks, romantic tension, and a few deaths in between.
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The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.
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Past notes will stay on the original post — we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.
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Hey everyone, no story update, I'm going to work on it more tonight.
Regardless, I need you to do me a favor: let Tumblr know this is a bad idea. If you were around this blog for when I was answering asks multiple times a day and highly active, it would be immediately obvious why this change hurts.
I can't imagine getting this far, writing this story as long as i have, if Tumblr worked like this in 2020. Every reblog, like, and comment means so so so much to me. Just a single comment motivates me to continue this series, and I can't imagine how utterly demotivating it would be if I only saw a fraction of the engagement on my end of things.
I met one of my best friends on Tumblr, was sucked into a friend group because we had a reblog chain where we pretended to go on a road trip to rob a bank (as our avatars, of course). Having notes only going to the person who made the latest addition, it makes things like group tumblr post road trips so difficult.
Please, send in feedback forms, tell staff this is not the way to go. Turn Back Tumblr.
You very much should tag them under "Dream SMP"!!! Much like here on Tumblr the ideal is that the "Minecraft" tag is kept for stuff specifically about the game and not based off roleplays made using the game.
In Thoery you could also use "Tales From The SMP - Fandom" but that gets auto sorted into Dream SMP & can't be filtered from fics about the main series, so that would be a purely aesthetic choice o7
Thank you so much! This is very helpful! I'll do that later today. I think when I created this series, the Dream SMP series tag didn't exist on ao3, so that's why it's like that.
Hey jic you didn't know you should probably remove the two RPF tags on the Ao3 uploads since those don't really apply with what your doing here!! Your as far as I can tell not writing the real life streamers/ccs in any capacity so these aren't RPF fics <2 /nf /info
(And the DSMP tag well Yes a "subtag" of "Video Blogging RPF", it can be filtered solely on it's own!! So having just the DSMP tag won't mess anything up either! iirc it's been this way for a while, but i know it wasn't when i first joined the fandom, so i'm adding jic it's cause your also used to that system like i was /nm)
Thank you for letting me know! I've been meaning to go back through the tags for a while now and clean up the fandom tags. Just to be clear, what fandom should I tag them under? DSMP? Minecraft?
A moment of privacy, or something close to it, while preparing for the wedding.
How calm can it really be before a storm?
----
Fionn’s mother taught her patience.
You can’t rush kneading out dough, staring at an oven won’t make it bake any faster, and dealing with customers takes as long as the customer decides it takes. Patience isn’t something people are born with; it's a skill that can be improved. But seeing her beloved, Zoe, sitting next to a random rich guy. Someone she’s being forced to marry. Someone who Zoe had only met a day ago.
If she was any less skilled, she would have strangled the man on sight.
“So, my parents rented out this place for three hours while we decide on a cake.” The groom, Carl, says to her with a polite smile. “Any ideas on what flavors to try?”
“Do you like vanilla?”
“It’s not my favorite but yes, I-”
“Then it’s decided.” Zoe declares as she browses the cake styles catalog. “Vanilla will do nicely.”
Fionn nods and starts reorganizing some pans and trays on the far side of the room. She can’t be too friendly or overbearing, Zoe was always very clear that their relationship stayed hidden. It tears a part of her heart apart that she can’t shout her love from the rooftops. And she will, eventually. But for now, she can only yearn from the other side of her counter while Zoe and her fiancé whisper quietly at the table.
“Oh Ms. Flynn,” Zoe calls out with that mischievous grin that makes Fionn’s heart skip a beat, “could you come over to our table please?”
How could she ever say no to that? She carefully steps out from behind the counter, a practiced performance on her lips, “Of course, Ms. Mus, what can I help you with today?”
“I would like to properly introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband. He goes by Karl, spelled with a K.”
Karl, for his part, looks like every child trying to lie for the first time. “Wh-I-Uh, no?”
“Karl, this is my ever-enchanting beloved who I’m running away with after our wedding.”
“Oh.” A subtle tension drains from his body in a moment and it’s like an entirely new person is sitting in front of Flynn. Someone she’s significantly less interested in strangling. “Oh! Hello, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you Ms. Flynn.”
“Pleasure to meet you, although I can’t say I’ve heard much of anything about you.”
Zoe tugs Fionn into the seat next to her. “Sit down, my biscuit. We’ve got three hours to get you two acquainted and it might not be enough time to cover his whole story.”
What happens next is the most unbelievable conversation Fionn has ever had. It starts with Karl doing the laziest name change she’s ever heard and running away from home. An hour later and they’re eating leftover cake while laughing about a barking cat spooking the local demon.
The front door creaks open just before Karl can explain the resident cannibal.
Immediately, Zoe and Karls faces erase any trace of joy and put back on painted smiles. Fionn puts on her own mask, reserved just for customers who can’t read a sign.
“We’re closed.”
“Oh, uh, I know.” The stranger grips an envelope close to his chest. “I have a telegram for the groom.”
“It can wait until after the taste testing,” Zoe’s tone is poisonously perfect as she looks over to Karl and coos, “right sweetie?”
Karl just stares at the stranger.
“Hey, uh, dude.” The stranger nods in an awkward greeting, “I got a very important letter for you.”
“Wilbur.”
“Hi.”
There’s a hollowed tone to Karl’s response that sets off more alarm bells in Fionn’s brain than she knew she had. “I don’t know if I want to see you right now.”
“Yah, yah, that’s very fair. Uh, I just need to give you this-“
Fionn wasn’t really sure when she got up from the table and between the two, but nothing short of god themselves would be moving her. “He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
“I,” he looks over to Karl with lost desperation, “it’s important and I think you’ll want to read it.”
“Sir,” Zoe pipes up in a honeyed tone, “we have this place rented out and-“
Karl holds out one hand with a defeated sigh, “Just- just give me the letter.”
Wilbur quickly passes the letter over. “So sorry for interrupting. I’ll b-w-what are you doing?”
Fionn glances back to see Karl fiddling with a lighter. He mumbles something under his breath and says, “I don’t care what this is or who it’s from. I just don-“
“Mack and Jason!” Wilbur nearly yells when the lighter finally clicks before making a sound like a dying ballon, “Fuck! Jack and Mason! I mean, uh, that. Yah.”
The lighter is closed and on the table in the blink of an eye.
“Wilbur,” Karl’s voice wavers with a cautious hope, “how do you know those names?”
“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but they kind of asked me to hand you that letter.”
Fionn has never seen anyone so desperate to open a letter before, like a starved dog finally finding food to eat. Once it’s open, it turns to an awed reverence. He choaks out with a little laugh, “They want to know when I’m available to be kidnapped.”
“Excuse me?” Fionn must have heard that wrong from the goofy grin spreading on Karl’s face. She glances over at Zoe for an explanation.
“The bandits from town.”
“…Still confused.” She turned to Wilbur, “Alright, letter delivered buddy. Time for you to go.”
“Wait, I-“ Karl pulls out the chair next to him, “Don’t go yet.”
Wilbur slowly sits down. “I’m really-“
“I don’t blame you.” Karl smiles weakly. “They- Just, stay. For now.”
“Okay.” Wilbur relaxes into the chair. “If you write a response before I have to leave, I can take it to them myself.”
Zoe gently tugs Fionn to another table, giving Karl some privacy while he writes. In the meantime, maybe Fionn can learn a bit more about this Lazarus place from Zoe.
----------------------------
Dear Jack and Mason,
I miss you both. I cannot describe the joy that your letter has brought me. You have heard correctly, the bride, Zoe Mus, is a lesbian. We’re actually taste testing for the wedding right now at her lover’s bakery, Fionn Flynn.
My parents have me locked down tight and I can’t see an opening in security any time soon. We can coordinate a kidnapping after the wedding, I’ll be less of a priority, and it’ll be less of a scandal for them if I am kidnapped. The priest can annul my marriage once we’re back in town. Also, Zoe and Fionn find it agreeable to be married by the priest in Lazarus and plan to potentially honeymoon there. I have not mentioned the occasionally unique Sunday service to them; it’s a difficult topic to bring up. I did tell Zoe about our local cannibal and they both know about our resident demon.
I miss you both so so much. I hope you’re keeping my coat safe.
Stay safe and out of trouble,
Karl Jacobs
---
It took a while to update the main story, but here we are! There are a total of 6 stories left. I originally planned the beginning of another story arc after this one, but I'd like to finish this series within the decade.
Here are the acronyms of the final 6 stories in the series:
TGTG(ATB)
TT
ALPNKN
AP
A
TNS
Let me know your guesses as to what the names of these stories are!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A moment of privacy, or something close to it, while preparing for the wedding.
How calm can it really be before a storm?
----
Fionn’s mother taught her patience.
You can’t rush kneading out dough, staring at an oven won’t make it bake any faster, and dealing with customers takes as long as the customer decides it takes. Patience isn’t something people are born with; it's a skill that can be improved. But seeing her beloved, Zoe, sitting next to a random rich guy. Someone she’s being forced to marry. Someone who Zoe had only met a day ago.
If she was any less skilled, she would have strangled the man on sight.
“So, my parents rented out this place for three hours while we decide on a cake.” The groom, Carl, says to her with a polite smile. “Any ideas on what flavors to try?”
“Do you like vanilla?”
“It’s not my favorite but yes, I-”
“Then it’s decided.” Zoe declares as she browses the cake styles catalog. “Vanilla will do nicely.”
Fionn nods and starts reorganizing some pans and trays on the far side of the room. She can’t be too friendly or overbearing, Zoe was always very clear that their relationship stayed hidden. It tears a part of her heart apart that she can’t shout her love from the rooftops. And she will, eventually. But for now, she can only yearn from the other side of her counter while Zoe and her fiancé whisper quietly at the table.
“Oh Ms. Flynn,” Zoe calls out with that mischievous grin that makes Fionn’s heart skip a beat, “could you come over to our table please?”
How could she ever say no to that? She carefully steps out from behind the counter, a practiced performance on her lips, “Of course, Ms. Mus, what can I help you with today?”
“I would like to properly introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband. He goes by Karl, spelled with a K.”
Karl, for his part, looks like every child trying to lie for the first time. “Wh-I-Uh, no?”
“Karl, this is my ever-enchanting beloved who I’m running away with after our wedding.”
“Oh.” A subtle tension drains from his body in a moment and it’s like an entirely new person is sitting in front of Flynn. Someone she’s significantly less interested in strangling. “Oh! Hello, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you Ms. Flynn.”
“Pleasure to meet you, although I can’t say I’ve heard much of anything about you.”
Zoe tugs Fionn into the seat next to her. “Sit down, my biscuit. We’ve got three hours to get you two acquainted and it might not be enough time to cover his whole story.”
What happens next is the most unbelievable conversation Fionn has ever had. It starts with Karl doing the laziest name change she’s ever heard and running away from home. An hour later and they’re eating leftover cake while laughing about a barking cat spooking the local demon.
The front door creaks open just before Karl can explain the resident cannibal.
Immediately, Zoe and Karls faces erase any trace of joy and put back on painted smiles. Fionn puts on her own mask, reserved just for customers who can’t read a sign.
“We’re closed.”
“Oh, uh, I know.” The stranger grips an envelope close to his chest. “I have a telegram for the groom.”
“It can wait until after the taste testing,” Zoe’s tone is poisonously perfect as she looks over to Karl and coos, “right sweetie?”
Karl just stares at the stranger.
“Hey, uh, dude.” The stranger nods in an awkward greeting, “I got a very important letter for you.”
“Wilbur.”
“Hi.”
There’s a hollowed tone to Karl’s response that sets off more alarm bells in Fionn’s brain than she knew she had. “I don’t know if I want to see you right now.”
“Yah, yah, that’s very fair. Uh, I just need to give you this-“
Fionn wasn’t really sure when she got up from the table and between the two, but nothing short of god themselves would be moving her. “He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
“I,” he looks over to Karl with lost desperation, “it’s important and I think you’ll want to read it.”
“Sir,” Zoe pipes up in a honeyed tone, “we have this place rented out and-“
Karl holds out one hand with a defeated sigh, “Just- just give me the letter.”
Wilbur quickly passes the letter over. “So sorry for interrupting. I’ll b-w-what are you doing?”
Fionn glances back to see Karl fiddling with a lighter. He mumbles something under his breath and says, “I don’t care what this is or who it’s from. I just don-“
“Mack and Jason!” Wilbur nearly yells when the lighter finally clicks before making a sound like a dying ballon, “Fuck! Jack and Mason! I mean, uh, that. Yah.”
The lighter is closed and on the table in the blink of an eye.
“Wilbur,” Karl’s voice wavers with a cautious hope, “how do you know those names?”
“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but they kind of asked me to hand you that letter.”
Fionn has never seen anyone so desperate to open a letter before, like a starved dog finally finding food to eat. Once it’s open, it turns to an awed reverence. He choaks out with a little laugh, “They want to know when I’m available to be kidnapped.”
“Excuse me?” Fionn must have heard that wrong from the goofy grin spreading on Karl’s face. She glances over at Zoe for an explanation.
“The bandits from town.”
“…Still confused.” She turned to Wilbur, “Alright, letter delivered buddy. Time for you to go.”
“Wait, I-“ Karl pulls out the chair next to him, “Don’t go yet.”
Wilbur slowly sits down. “I’m really-“
“I don’t blame you.” Karl smiles weakly. “They- Just, stay. For now.”
“Okay.” Wilbur relaxes into the chair. “If you write a response before I have to leave, I can take it to them myself.”
Zoe gently tugs Fionn to another table, giving Karl some privacy while he writes. In the meantime, maybe Fionn can learn a bit more about this Lazarus place from Zoe.
----------------------------
Dear Jack and Mason,
I miss you both. I cannot describe the joy that your letter has brought me. You have heard correctly, the bride, Zoe Mus, is a lesbian. We’re actually taste testing for the wedding right now at her lover’s bakery, Fionn Flynn.
My parents have me locked down tight and I can’t see an opening in security any time soon. We can coordinate a kidnapping after the wedding, I’ll be less of a priority, and it’ll be less of a scandal for them if I am kidnapped. The priest can annul my marriage once we’re back in town. Also, Zoe and Fionn find it agreeable to be married by the priest in Lazarus and plan to potentially honeymoon there. I have not mentioned the occasionally unique Sunday service to them; it’s a difficult topic to bring up. I did tell Zoe about our local cannibal and they both know about our resident demon.
I miss you both so so much. I hope you’re keeping my coat safe.
Stay safe and out of trouble,
Karl Jacobs
---
It took a while to update the main story, but here we are! There are a total of 6 stories left. I originally planned the beginning of another story arc after this one, but I'd like to finish this series within the decade.
Here are the acronyms of the final 6 stories in the series:
TGTG(ATB)
TT
ALPNKN
AP
A
TNS
Let me know your guesses as to what the names of these stories are!
A moment of privacy, or something close to it, while preparing for the wedding.
How calm can it really be before a storm?
----
Fionn’s mother taught her patience.
You can’t rush kneading out dough, staring at an oven won’t make it bake any faster, and dealing with customers takes as long as the customer decides it takes. Patience isn’t something people are born with; it's a skill that can be improved. But seeing her beloved, Zoe, sitting next to a random rich guy. Someone she’s being forced to marry. Someone who Zoe had only met a day ago.
If she was any less skilled, she would have strangled the man on sight.
“So, my parents rented out this place for three hours while we decide on a cake.” The groom, Carl, says to her with a polite smile. “Any ideas on what flavors to try?”
“Do you like vanilla?”
“It’s not my favorite but yes, I-”
“Then it’s decided.” Zoe declares as she browses the cake styles catalog. “Vanilla will do nicely.”
Fionn nods and starts reorganizing some pans and trays on the far side of the room. She can’t be too friendly or overbearing, Zoe was always very clear that their relationship stayed hidden. It tears a part of her heart apart that she can’t shout her love from the rooftops. And she will, eventually. But for now, she can only yearn from the other side of her counter while Zoe and her fiancé whisper quietly at the table.
“Oh Ms. Flynn,” Zoe calls out with that mischievous grin that makes Fionn’s heart skip a beat, “could you come over to our table please?”
How could she ever say no to that? She carefully steps out from behind the counter, a practiced performance on her lips, “Of course, Ms. Mus, what can I help you with today?”
“I would like to properly introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband. He goes by Karl, spelled with a K.”
Karl, for his part, looks like every child trying to lie for the first time. “Wh-I-Uh, no?”
“Karl, this is my ever-enchanting beloved who I’m running away with after our wedding.”
“Oh.” A subtle tension drains from his body in a moment and it’s like an entirely new person is sitting in front of Flynn. Someone she’s significantly less interested in strangling. “Oh! Hello, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you Ms. Flynn.”
“Pleasure to meet you, although I can’t say I’ve heard much of anything about you.”
Zoe tugs Fionn into the seat next to her. “Sit down, my biscuit. We’ve got three hours to get you two acquainted and it might not be enough time to cover his whole story.”
What happens next is the most unbelievable conversation Fionn has ever had. It starts with Karl doing the laziest name change she’s ever heard and running away from home. An hour later and they’re eating leftover cake while laughing about a barking cat spooking the local demon.
The front door creaks open just before Karl can explain the resident cannibal.
Immediately, Zoe and Karls faces erase any trace of joy and put back on painted smiles. Fionn puts on her own mask, reserved just for customers who can’t read a sign.
“We’re closed.”
“Oh, uh, I know.” The stranger grips an envelope close to his chest. “I have a telegram for the groom.”
“It can wait until after the taste testing,” Zoe’s tone is poisonously perfect as she looks over to Karl and coos, “right sweetie?”
Karl just stares at the stranger.
“Hey, uh, dude.” The stranger nods in an awkward greeting, “I got a very important letter for you.”
“Wilbur.”
“Hi.”
There’s a hollowed tone to Karl’s response that sets off more alarm bells in Fionn’s brain than she knew she had. “I don’t know if I want to see you right now.”
“Yah, yah, that’s very fair. Uh, I just need to give you this-“
Fionn wasn’t really sure when she got up from the table and between the two, but nothing short of god themselves would be moving her. “He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
“I,” he looks over to Karl with lost desperation, “it’s important and I think you’ll want to read it.”
“Sir,” Zoe pipes up in a honeyed tone, “we have this place rented out and-“
Karl holds out one hand with a defeated sigh, “Just- just give me the letter.”
Wilbur quickly passes the letter over. “So sorry for interrupting. I’ll b-w-what are you doing?”
Fionn glances back to see Karl fiddling with a lighter. He mumbles something under his breath and says, “I don’t care what this is or who it’s from. I just don-“
“Mack and Jason!” Wilbur nearly yells when the lighter finally clicks before making a sound like a dying ballon, “Fuck! Jack and Mason! I mean, uh, that. Yah.”
The lighter is closed and on the table in the blink of an eye.
“Wilbur,” Karl’s voice wavers with a cautious hope, “how do you know those names?”
“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but they kind of asked me to hand you that letter.”
Fionn has never seen anyone so desperate to open a letter before, like a starved dog finally finding food to eat. Once it’s open, it turns to an awed reverence. He choaks out with a little laugh, “They want to know when I’m available to be kidnapped.”
“Excuse me?” Fionn must have heard that wrong from the goofy grin spreading on Karl’s face. She glances over at Zoe for an explanation.
“The bandits from town.”
“…Still confused.” She turned to Wilbur, “Alright, letter delivered buddy. Time for you to go.”
“Wait, I-“ Karl pulls out the chair next to him, “Don’t go yet.”
Wilbur slowly sits down. “I’m really-“
“I don’t blame you.” Karl smiles weakly. “They- Just, stay. For now.”
“Okay.” Wilbur relaxes into the chair. “If you write a response before I have to leave, I can take it to them myself.”
Zoe gently tugs Fionn to another table, giving Karl some privacy while he writes. In the meantime, maybe Fionn can learn a bit more about this Lazarus place from Zoe.
----------------------------
Dear Jack and Mason,
I miss you both. I cannot describe the joy that your letter has brought me. You have heard correctly, the bride, Zoe Mus, is a lesbian. We’re actually taste testing for the wedding right now at her lover’s bakery, Fionn Flynn.
My parents have me locked down tight and I can’t see an opening in security any time soon. We can coordinate a kidnapping after the wedding, I’ll be less of a priority, and it’ll be less of a scandal for them if I am kidnapped. The priest can annul my marriage once we’re back in town. Also, Zoe and Fionn find it agreeable to be married by the priest in Lazarus and plan to potentially honeymoon there. I have not mentioned the occasionally unique Sunday service to them; it’s a difficult topic to bring up. I did tell Zoe about our local cannibal and they both know about our resident demon.
I miss you both so so much. I hope you’re keeping my coat safe.
Stay safe and out of trouble,
Karl Jacobs
---
It took a while to update the main story, but here we are! There are a total of 6 stories left. I originally planned the beginning of another story arc after this one, but I'd like to finish this series within the decade.
Here are the acronyms of the final 6 stories in the series:
TGTG(ATB)
TT
ALPNKN
AP
A
TNS
Let me know your guesses as to what the names of these stories are!
In the town of Lazarus, Karl Jacobs awakens to see two bandits in his room. Bandits that had been shoot dead days before. With no gun in hand and tooth picks for arms, he'll have to find out what they want and hope it's not revenge.
---
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being the sheriff of Lazarus.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
“Mornin’ pretty boy,” Mason drawled with a crooked grin, “Glad you’re finally joining us in the land of the living.”
“Ya know, sunshine, Thompson usually gets up before noon.” Jack snickered out.
Karl stood motionless, jaw dropped. Was he still dreaming? The nauseating twist of his stomach didn’t seem like a dream. The thrum of his heartbeat in his ears felt real. Then again, the bandits did just flirt with him and weren’t scowling with hatred. But if it was that type of dream why would they have his gun?
He must have fallen back asleep. Shoot. He was going to be late to church. But how to wake up? He’d never been shot in a dream before and he wasn’t looking to try it out. Looking down, he had a brilliant idea. He kicked his foot into the side of the dresser as hard as he could.
“Mother-”
Karl smothered the curse and swallowed it back down. Cursing in front of company is always rude, even if the company is laughing at you.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“I thought I was going to be late for church.”
The two bandits devolved into hysterical laughter.
Reality sunk its teeth into his chest. He’s unarmed. They have his gun. They’re both holding guns- safely? Their fingers aren’t on the triggers, pointed down at the floor and away from anyone. This isn’t a dream. Didn’t one of them call him pretty boy a minute ago?
He put on as much bravado as one could have after stubbing their toe and said, “So, you called me pretty- no, sun- I mean-“
“Oh no,” Jack spoke over the fumbled words, “we heard you pretty clearly, pretty boy.”
Karl takes another shuttering breath. Take stock of the situation, not just the people in it. He wasn’t restrained while he was asleep. The door is only three steps away. If they laugh really hard again, he could bolt out the door before they can realize what’s happening. He’d just have to pray that the last bandit, Flint, wasn’t waiting outside.
“That wasn’t what I meant to ask.” Confidence is half the battle, shoulders back, head high but tilted forward in respect. “What I meant to ask was: didn’t you all lose yesterday? The duels between you all and me and the townsfolk.”
“Hey, I won against John.” Mason corrects.
John John, the sweet kid who’d shown Karl around Lazarus on his very first day. A cold fury seizes Karl’s heart as he remembers John’s body hitting the ground. Lifeless.
He can hear the anger sticking to his voice like honey as he speaks. “Congratulations on winning against a kid. But then you lost your duel against me.”
The bandits tense up and- shit, Karl still doesn’t have a gun. He probably shouldn’t be back talking to the guy he shot. New topic, redirect the conversation.
“So, how are you both-“ don’t say dead, don’t say dead, don’t say dead “-not corpses?”
The bandits seem to have a silent conversation between themselves. They’re not scowling or even frowning, but there’s a lack of amusement in their faces. The anger that burned so brightly only seconds ago drains back into fear as silence hangs in the room.
“Well,” Jack stood up from the chair while clipping Karls’s holster and gun to his belt, “that’s a question that the priest does best at answering.”
Oh, so they are going to kill him. The priest had died before Karl had even arrived in town. John had told him about it while giving him a tour of the town.
He wasn’t ready to die.
His arms were shaking as he slowly stepped back. His leg brushed up against the chair behind him.
Mason starts to gesture with the gun.
In what felt like a blink, Karl is holding the wooden chair in front of him. It’s a terrible shield; he can feel the wood ready to give just by being picked up. But it’s something between him and-
Why does Mason have his hands out like he’s talking to a cornered animal? There’s not any softness in the voice, but there’s a smoothness to it that wasn’t there before. Like a good whiskey.
“Hey, you’re good. You’re all good. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to holster my gun and we’re going to take you to church, okay?”
Even before Karl responds, Mason slowly, carefully lowers his gun into his holster. It’s not until Mason’s hand lets go of the gun and raises back into the air that Karl dares to choak out, “Why?”
Jack pipes up from the chair, also holding his hands in the air in seeming surrender, “If you’re askin’ why we’re going to church, it’s ‘cuz they’re better at explaining all of, uh, everything.”
“Explain what?” he laughs out hysterically, “Explain that I’m going to die?”
Karl has never heard someone so genuinely confused as Jack is as he asks, “What? Are you deathly allergic to churches? You’re not going to die.”
“You are literally taking me to church for my own funeral! You’re going to shoot me with my own gun!”
“We’re not going to do that.”
“You’re going to stab me?”
“No! We’re not going to kill you. Or hurt you. We’re just takin’ you to church.”
It shouldn’t make him relax to hear those words. It could so easily be a lie- but why would they do that? They have every advantage, and they haven’t pushed it at all.
He lowers the chair to rest one of its legs on the ground.
“Why take my gun?”
“Most people shoot first and ask questions later when they see the dead up and walking around.”
“Why-“
Mason cuts in, “Alright, we’ll answer all your questions soon, but can you finish getting ready? We’re burnin’ daylight and since it’s your first Sunday in town, everyone will be waitin’ on you so keep getting ready.”
“Yah, the priest always gets cranky when he has to delay the service.”
Wait, if the priest is alive, and these two are alive, then- “Who’s going to be at the service?”
“Everyone is.”
“Even- “
Hope strangles the question before it can even leave his mouth. It clears away the fear in his body so fast it burns.
There’s a flicker of kind and understanding smiles on both bandits, there and gone so fast Karl’s not sure if they were there in the first place.
“Ya know,” Jack leans forward with a mischievous smirk, “from what I overheard, John sounded pretty excited to see you again.”
The chair legs hit the floor as Karl is already halfway across the room to grab his socks.
He’s alive. John John is alive. He probably doesn’t even blame Karl for getting him shot in the first place. Not yet, but Karl will take every moment he can to make it up to him.
Am I ready for this?
The thought makes him pause for a moment. He’s a mess. His hands are shaking so hard he can’t properly tie his shoes. His body feels like it’s covered in boiling ice. He’s not ready for this at all.
He can give them what they want. He can be ready.
Karl takes a deep breath and shoves down all the mess into the back of his brain. Be polite. Smile, even when everything sucks. Give the people what they want, and he can break down in private later. Just like his parents’ parties.
He slides on his coat. A comforting weight settles on his shoulders. Everything is a little less overwhelming.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
---
Thank you to everyone for your patience! I'm so glad I could finish this rewrite just in time to start my next semester. I've truly grown leaps and bounds since I started this series and I couldn't have done it without you all to support me. From when I was posting multiple times a day during the first few months of this AU to now, where posts and updates are spaced apart with months of silence. I appreciate all of you who have read these stories. I hope you enjoy this gift, that I give to you all on my birthday!
I hope you have a lovely day! (Edit: added a missing line.)
In the town of Lazarus, Karl Jacobs awakens to see two bandits in his room. Bandits that had been shoot dead days before. With no gun in hand and tooth picks for arms, he'll have to find out what they want and hope it's not revenge.
---
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being the sheriff of Lazarus.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
“Mornin’ pretty boy,” Mason drawled with a crooked grin, “Glad you’re finally joining us in the land of the living.”
“Ya know, sunshine, Thompson usually gets up before noon.” Jack snickered out.
Karl stood motionless, jaw dropped. Was he still dreaming? The nauseating twist of his stomach didn’t seem like a dream. The thrum of his heartbeat in his ears felt real. Then again, the bandits did just flirt with him and weren’t scowling with hatred. But if it was that type of dream why would they have his gun?
He must have fallen back asleep. Shoot. He was going to be late to church. But how to wake up? He’d never been shot in a dream before and he wasn’t looking to try it out. Looking down, he had a brilliant idea. He kicked his foot into the side of the dresser as hard as he could.
“Mother-”
Karl smothered the curse and swallowed it back down. Cursing in front of company is always rude, even if the company is laughing at you.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“I thought I was going to be late for church.”
The two bandits devolved into hysterical laughter.
Reality sunk its teeth into his chest. He’s unarmed. They have his gun. They’re both holding guns- safely? Their fingers aren’t on the triggers, pointed down at the floor and away from anyone. This isn’t a dream. Didn’t one of them call him pretty boy a minute ago?
He put on as much bravado as one could have after stubbing their toe and said, “So, you called me pretty- no, sun- I mean-“
“Oh no,” Jack spoke over the fumbled words, “we heard you pretty clearly, pretty boy.”
Karl takes another shuttering breath. Take stock of the situation, not just the people in it. He wasn’t restrained while he was asleep. The door is only three steps away. If they laugh really hard again, he could bolt out the door before they can realize what’s happening. He’d just have to pray that the last bandit, Flint, wasn’t waiting outside.
“That wasn’t what I meant to ask.” Confidence is half the battle, shoulders back, head high but tilted forward in respect. “What I meant to ask was: didn’t you all lose yesterday? The duels between you all and me and the townsfolk.”
“Hey, I won against John.” Mason corrects.
John John, the sweet kid who’d shown Karl around Lazarus on his very first day. A cold fury seizes Karl’s heart as he remembers John’s body hitting the ground. Lifeless.
He can hear the anger sticking to his voice like honey as he speaks. “Congratulations on winning against a kid. But then you lost your duel against me.”
The bandits tense up and- shit, Karl still doesn’t have a gun. He probably shouldn’t be back talking to the guy he shot. New topic, redirect the conversation.
“So, how are you both-“ don’t say dead, don’t say dead, don’t say dead “-not corpses?”
The bandits seem to have a silent conversation between themselves. They’re not scowling or even frowning, but there’s a lack of amusement in their faces. The anger that burned so brightly only seconds ago drains back into fear as silence hangs in the room.
“Well,” Jack stood up from the chair while clipping Karls’s holster and gun to his belt, “that’s a question that the priest does best at answering.”
Oh, so they are going to kill him. The priest had died before Karl had even arrived in town. John had told him about it while giving him a tour of the town.
He wasn’t ready to die.
His arms were shaking as he slowly stepped back. His leg brushed up against the chair behind him.
Mason starts to gesture with the gun.
In what felt like a blink, Karl is holding the wooden chair in front of him. It’s a terrible shield; he can feel the wood ready to give just by being picked up. But it’s something between him and-
Why does Mason have his hands out like he’s talking to a cornered animal? There’s not any softness in the voice, but there’s a smoothness to it that wasn’t there before. Like a good whiskey.
“Hey, you’re good. You’re all good. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to holster my gun and we’re going to take you to church, okay?”
Even before Karl responds, Mason slowly, carefully lowers his gun into his holster. It’s not until Mason’s hand lets go of the gun and raises back into the air that Karl dares to choak out, “Why?”
Jack pipes up from the chair, also holding his hands in the air in seeming surrender, “If you’re askin’ why we’re going to church, it’s ‘cuz they’re better at explaining all of, uh, everything.”
“Explain what?” he laughs out hysterically, “Explain that I’m going to die?”
Karl has never heard someone so genuinely confused as Jack is as he asks, “What? Are you deathly allergic to churches? You’re not going to die.”
“You are literally taking me to church for my own funeral! You’re going to shoot me with my own gun!”
“We’re not going to do that.”
“You’re going to stab me?”
“No! We’re not going to kill you. Or hurt you. We’re just takin’ you to church.”
It shouldn’t make him relax to hear those words. It could so easily be a lie- but why would they do that? They have every advantage, and they haven’t pushed it at all.
He lowers the chair to rest one of its legs on the ground.
“Why take my gun?”
“Most people shoot first and ask questions later when they see the dead up and walking around.”
“Why-“
Mason cuts in, “Alright, we’ll answer all your questions soon, but can you finish getting ready? We’re burnin’ daylight and since it’s your first Sunday in town, everyone will be waitin’ on you so keep getting ready.”
“Yah, the priest always gets cranky when he has to delay the service.”
Wait, if the priest is alive, and these two are alive, then- “Who’s going to be at the service?”
“Everyone is.”
“Even- “
Hope strangles the question before it can even leave his mouth. It clears away the fear in his body so fast it burns.
There’s a flicker of kind and understanding smiles on both bandits, there and gone so fast Karl’s not sure if they were there in the first place.
“Ya know,” Jack leans forward with a mischievous smirk, “from what I overheard, John sounded pretty excited to see you again.”
The chair legs hit the floor as Karl is already halfway across the room to grab his socks.
He’s alive. John John is alive. He probably doesn’t even blame Karl for getting him shot in the first place. Not yet, but Karl will take every moment he can to make it up to him.
Am I ready for this?
The thought makes him pause for a moment. He’s a mess. His hands are shaking so hard he can’t properly tie his shoes. His body feels like it’s covered in boiling ice. He’s not ready for this at all.
He can give them what they want. He can be ready.
Karl takes a deep breath and shoves down all the mess into the back of his brain. Be polite. Smile, even when everything sucks. Give the people what they want, and he can break down in private later. Just like his parents’ parties.
He slides on his coat. A comforting weight settles on his shoulders. Everything is a little less overwhelming.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
---
Thank you to everyone for your patience! I'm so glad I could finish this rewrite just in time to start my next semester. I've truly grown leaps and bounds since I started this series and I couldn't have done it without you all to support me. From when I was posting multiple times a day during the first few months of this AU to now, where posts and updates are spaced apart with months of silence. I appreciate all of you who have read these stories. I hope you enjoy this gift, that I give to you all on my birthday!
I hope you have a lovely day! (Edit: added a missing line.)
Hey everyone, it's been a while since the last part of this series and I promise it's coming. I took a writing class this semester and I've learned a lot, even though I didn't have the time to work on my own stories.
I just realized, it's the 5th anniversary of this blog. Like, as I'm typing this. Wow. Somehow, this all lines up really wonderfully.
For the final project in that writing class, I decided to do something with the wild west story. Unfortunately, it's not fully written yet and I'm struggling to get it done. But, here's a snippet of what I have written! I'm hoping your comments and enthusiasm will give me the energy to finish it up over the next few days.
This rewrite is aiming to double the length of the original story and adds new insights, descriptions, and dialog! Let me know what you think of it so far!
The First Sunday (2025 Edition)
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being sheriff.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
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Hey everyone, it's been a while since the last part of this series and I promise it's coming. I took a writing class this semester and I've learned a lot, even though I didn't have the time to work on my own stories.
I just realized, it's the 5th anniversary of this blog. Like, as I'm typing this. Wow. Somehow, this all lines up really wonderfully.
For the final project in that writing class, I decided to do something with the wild west story. Unfortunately, it's not fully written yet and I'm struggling to get it done. But, here's a snippet of what I have written! I'm hoping your comments and enthusiasm will give me the energy to finish it up over the next few days.
This rewrite is aiming to double the length of the original story and adds new insights, descriptions, and dialog! Let me know what you think of it so far!
The First Sunday (2025 Edition)
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being sheriff.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Have you read ksqwildwest (Tales of the SMP/Dream SMP)?
I have read it
I haven't read it, but I plan to now
I haven't read it, but I'm in the fandom
I haven't read it, but I'm not in the fandom
Voting ended onDec 7, 2024
Summary:
The Main Story from my AU on Tumblr.
AU where Karl is a normal person and anyone who dies in the town comes back to life at the end of the week.
Find more info and ask questions ksqwildwest.tumblr.com
Author: @ksqwildwest
Note from Submitter: Ksqwildwest is a very lovely fic series and blog with all the main oneshots also available on Ao3!! The main premise is an AU where Karl is a normal Person in a wild west town named Lazarus, and if you die in town your reborn at the end of the week! I may be biased (one of the main fanartists for the au :p) but it's well worth the read for any TFTFSMP:Wild West fans who are okay w/ shipping
Hey, thank you so much for submitting my AU to this blog! I'm honored that you enjoyed the series enough to submit it here!
I know it's been awhile since the last update, but I promise that this work is not abandoned. This school semester has been... particularly rough. For a lot of reasons I won't get into. Seeing this. It warms my heart that people love my story enough to do something like submit it to a mcyt-poll-gimic blog? I'm not sure the official term.
I'm genuinely tearing up a little. This is a really, really nice suprise in the middle of a rough spot. I hope that anyone who finds this series through this post gives it a chance. The first stories were written during the pandemic and I think you can truly see me grow as a writer as you go through each part of the story. The latest chapter was my best one yet and I hope to improve with each story released.
She's owned more pets than you can imagine. No, really. Whatever number you're thinking of, it's higher, like quadruple it then add a zero on the end. This was because of her family's business of pest control, people often gifted her a range of critters, normal pets, animals that could be called pests, and exotic pets too!
As she grew older, and her family had announced that they would no longer be taking in animals, she found good homes for most of her critters. Some died of old age, or getting into something they shouldn't have, but most found good homes. She honestly spent more time with animals than people as she grew up. The animals didn't care if she slouched or acted unlady like.
It's part of the reason she's so good at putting on her perfect daughter act, if she didn't behave, one or more of her pets would be given away. One time, one of her fish was cooked for dinner. She bit three people and stabbed a chef in the leg with a kitchen knife. She was twelve. They didn't try it again.
When everything and everything is going according to plan and not a speck of dust is out of place. That's when they are happy.
Sorry if that wasn't really what you were looking for. They're homophobic characters that I created for the express purpose of conflict and having a plot. Is that a little one dimensional? Yes. And I'm not planning on expanding their characters.
Uh, they probably like rich people sports? Like golf and that sport that's like tennis but louder? Or that one you do on horse back, crochet?
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☯ for the Priest please, I'm curious and I like him.
Thanks for the ask!
Likes/dislikes -
The Priest absolutely hates sunburns. It's actually one of his top reasons for covering up so much skin. Can't get sunburned if the sun can't reach your skin!
Is this partially inspired by my own philosophy of covering up and avoiding sunburns on top of my currently sunburned neck? Yes. Very much so. Ow.
Likes/dislikes - He really likes playing Texas hold 'em, even though he's not great at it. Something about the game just makes his brain happy.
Quirks/hobbies- He can and will chew on anything he's holding while writing. Pens, paper, and even his own jacket. A few times, the bandits have used this to their advantage, putting a plate of food next to him as he mindlessly picked up and chewed. Not water though. He just tries to eat the glass.
