Oneshots! (Mostly Hermitcraft)

Can We Skip to the Good Part? [Tango]

Summary (violently kidnapped from AO3):
He's on the moon. Tango's on the moon. He'd be ecstatic if the world wasn't about to end.

TWs: animal death

"Holsten? We have a problem."

Nothing.

"Holsten?"

...

"Holsten, are you there?"

The AI makes no response. Tango stares into the smouldering wreckage, sorrow and distress eating at his bones. He swallows tightly, taking stock of his situation. His space suit is covered in burns along his left side, although they remain superficial. Adequate whinnies and nudges him from behind, knocking their helmets together. The asteroid hit had obliterated his rocket, leaving behind a barely-smoking husk of metal and melted plastic.

Tango steels himself, crawling through the wreckage to the remains of the storage system. He hisses as the heat manages to reach him through his gloves, melting the plastic exterior. The shulkers of food and explosives are still intact and he breathes a sigh of relief, extracting himself from the debris.

He rests his hand on Adequate's flank, then shoves the boxes into his inventory – a white backpack with the HASA logo embroidered on the side. Just to be sure, he taps on the communicator built into his suit on his left forearm, broken shards of glass flaking away beneath his fingertips. The screen shows nothing but random neon lights flickering in and out of existence, the component controlling the pixels pulverised within. Large spiderweb cracks split across the screen, further dividing the burning colours. A lump in his throat, Tango shuts off the device, swallowing so tightly he can feel his Adam's apple brushing against the inside of his space suit.

He mounts up, kicking his heels into Adequate's sides and urging him forward across the rocky, uneven surface of the moon. He leans low against his horse's neck as they canter forward, blinking away the burning in his eyes that he swears aren't tears. His oxygen tank... was just contaminated with onions. Yeah. That makes sense.

Adequate's hooves drumming on the moonstone fill the silence, a steady beat as they rush to the crystals. Tango drops the reins, allowing Adequate to gallop freely as he swings his backpack around to the front. He grabs several handfuls of carrots in his fists, guiding Adequate with his knees. Gratitude tastes bitter in his mouth as he remembers the hours of riding, falling, and subsequent soreness from learning to ride with Bdubs.

Bdubs. Tango shudders, remembering the man's final message to him before he completely lost signal. Bdubs had urged him to remain on the moon, remain safe, remain secure as the world crashed down around him, blocks flying. Uselessly, he scrubs at the glass on his visor, trying to blink away the burning tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. It's onions.

He guides Adequate to slowly circle the crater full of crystals, allowing him to survey the hopping killer rabbits within. The lime green crystals sparkle in the dying light of space as the moon sank into its frigid version of "night". Their eerie red eyes glow in the falling darkness as Tango flips his headlight on, leaning over and doing the same for Adequate.

"Alright, Adequate," he says, his voice full of forced bravado. He dismounts, leaning his head against his horse's neck as he braces himself for the next stage of his Brilliant Plan to Save Hermitcraft (trademark, all rights reserved). He takes a shaky breath, and haphazardly straps the carrots to the saddle, making sure they're visible. Already, the rabbits are picking up on their scent, slowly hopping in their direction.

"Ready, boy?" he asks, more for himself than his horse. He slaps his hand against Adequate's flank, sending him off to gallop through the crystal field. The rabbits turn and bound after the animal, drawn by the carrots and the promise of fresh blood. Tango refuses to hesitate, forcing his knees to unlock and scrambling into the depths of the crater.