#Welcome to Camp Hermitcraft

[askhermesgrian]

Welcome to CAMP HERMITCRAFT! (Text Adventure Event) Prologue

(STARTING POST , NEXT POST , POLL AT THE END!)

Art by @ahllohehn Writing by @askhermesgrian (asst. @ahllohehn)

First began with darkness.

It wasn't always dark, no. You're pretty sure you're capable of seeing more than just the absolute darkness you're currently seeing in your vision. You can't quite remember how you got to this point, but you do know that you need to wake up. You can't stay like this.

Slowly, your consciousness started to return to you. How you lost it? You hope you'd remember. For now, you'll need to first get a hold of yourself before anything else.

It was a struggle to open your eyes and you mentally pat yourself in the back when you were able to. Your eyelids still felt a little heavy and it took a few more blinks before your brain could register you were actually awake and coordinated to express so.

"...ke!... Oh!..."

You still felt a little out of it. You could barely tell that there was actually someone speaking to you.

"Imp... ki... e...."

Once again, you force yourself to wake up. Snap out of it. Wake up.

"Please wake up or else Impulse is actually going to kill me!"

You inhaled sharply, your chest rising from the greedy intake of air you took as your eyes snapped open. You squinted and squeaked in pain when you were immediately met with the sun, half-relieved when something loomed over you to cover it.

When you opened your eyes once again, your vision wasn't met with the sun this time. Instead, a young boy with a face of panic.

"Oh gods! You're not dead!" he had said.

You zoned out and didn't reply immediately. Your mind still a little muddled from the unconsciousness you forcefully pulled yourself out of. It was then that your head started to feel painful.

You grit your teeth and stiffly brought a hand up in an attempt to massage the numbing pain away. But before you could, another hand had already made its way to the side of your head and tried to soothe whatever pain you were experiencing. It was almost concerning that they seemed aware of where it seemed to hurt. They even made a pained looking face like they could feel the numbing injury.

"Oof... I'm really in big trouble now," he hissed and pulled his hand away, moving his dark eyes to make eye contact with yours.

"Uh, you didn't get amnesia or anything from that, did you?" he asked worriedly, "Because I really don't want to explain to Xisuma how I caused brain damage to a passerby while I was out and about."

You blinked at him confusingly and didn't respond. The reaction caused him to look even more terrified, but he suppressed it easily enough to make it seem like he was more worried than fearful.

He sighed, "I'm definitely gonna lose outside privileges after this," you heard them mumble.

It was then that you decide to ask:

"Am I in heaven?"

The person looming over you had a brief look of surprise that slowly turned to one of amusement and exasperation.

[berryispostingthings]

NEEWW MEET THE ARTIST!!! :3

#berryisdrawing - art #berryisreblogging - reblogs #berryisshitposting - shitpost but idk what this little guy for Find me here: 🔆 Telegram (archive/portfolio) 🔆 Telegram (art blog) 🔆 VK (art blog on diff patfrom)

[veritate-lol]

Hello, I'm currently out of ideas. Please request something if you're able (anonymous asks are on!)

[ahllohehn]

Welcome to Camp Hermitcraft text event illustrations dump (so far)

about au au tag discord

[hatopixlriffs]

This week, on CHC:

Flowers, trees, and dragons, Oh My!

Welcome to the CHC recap, my name is Pixlriffs, our writer is ZloyXP, our physical copies printed by Lyarrah. So much has happened in the past week and a half since the last recap, so without further ado:

Let's take a look at all the events and mishaps that occurred on Camp Hermitcraft, this week!

Starting with @gem-the-oracle, who caught a nasty bug, and spent most of the week ill in the Big House. Being the Oracle of Delphi of course, absolutely nothing could go wrong! Besides, it couldn't be weirder than her vision of purple flowers that were quickly identified as Hyacinths, the same kind of flower plaguing every Apollo kid and especially Apollo himself! This spirals into madness as @sungod7-fuckyoupearl starts getting texts from none other than Daphne, known to her account name @notoriginallyatreenypmh and the sun god as "The One Who Got Away". Apollo quickly undergoes the five stages of grief as he realizes this isn't a prank and @boatboynr1- who was turned into a cat by Apollo literally ten minutes prior- berates him with yowls.

Oh, and Apollo's dead boyfriend Hyacinthus seems to have been the one sending all the flowers. How @hyancithus is doing this beats all reason as he is stuck as a Hyacinth flower and can only communicate in 🪻 emojis. Daphne claims he's able to channel energy through her and the phone she stole but refuses to elaborate further. After a minor breakdown, Apollo teleports Daphne and Hya from their temporary prison of Italy to Camp Hermitcraft, where Daphne takes her axe- also stolen- and takes a breather in the camp lake. Apollo's hands are full as he does his best to take care of his dead boyfriend, whom is still stuck as a flower. A similar rescue mission is still ongoing, as @askhermesgrian, @camphermithater, and Joel have left on a quest to go retrieve @pearl-likes-hunting from some myserious woods. All at the request of @shutupapolloplease, of course.

And what do you know, a third retrieval is also ongoing! @hatotangoftek's metal dragon, Fotia, is loose in NYC and he scrambles to get her back before he ends up in more trouble than he already is.

@undead-daughter-of-heb attempts to help Tango, but not before blacking out and waking up hours later, with the Hebe cabin rearranged, nice notes everywhere, and people claiming that Gem had briefly possessed her. The strangeness doesn't end there, as she finds and almost adopts a stray cat in camp, before eventually realizing it was @askxisumachc who'd gotten cursed while shifted and couldn't change back. Cleo takes X to Camp Jupiter, where @lovemushroomsandflowers successfully returns him to human form. Ignoring the purring, cat tail, and cat ears that stayed behind, of course. And according to Scott, Xisuma also seems to have retained cat-like attributes, such as the innate need to chase a laser pointer.

(click for better size- couldn't enlarge it w/o crunchiness) Unluckily for Scott, or maybe luckily for X, @goldenqueenfalse ended up putting him in the hospital before he could test catnip on the acting camp director. This does mean that the fashion show, which most demigods have agreed to simply call "Prom", will be delayed some time, which is fine as some campers have yet to pick out outfits.

Some campers may need to re-choose outfits after ending up back as adults, as Cleo has figured out how to control her powers! Yay for Cleo!

Chaos isn't the only thing going on, as @asktheshreeper and @boatboynr2 spend the week hanging out and even make some shopping plans!

@askscarpjo makes head bead bracelets :)

@hatorendiggitydog also wants head bead bracelets. He then proceeds to dream about Tartarus and acts like thats normal. Etho is not convinced.

@askhatoskizz is not immune to his dad's dead boyfriend and after receiving Hyacinths, decides to do something else. He decides to take @erempulse to a musical and manages to get tickets from Apollo before the whole shrubbery shenanigans (see: above) go down.

@spoonsandmustaches spends his free time playing tech support for @hato-grumbot (ooc- run by the creator of the au himself: @ahllohehn).

@askhatokeralis spends the week running camp in Xisuma's absence. He's doing fantastic.

And finally there's @askluckskall, who's been contemplating his gender identity and is seeking help from Cleo. As of writing this, we have yet to see where this is headed.

AND that's about it for this weeks recap, our writer is ZloyXP, and my name is Pixlriff, physical copies printed by Lyarrah. Don't forget to leave a like while you're here, and follow so you don't miss future recaps. Thanks for reading, and we'll see you next week.

[red-velvet-0w0]

INTRO POST

Im just a silly little person with an ocean obsession who lives in your phone.

My names are Erin/Eris/Eve/Jess/Red (Erin or Eris is preferred, but I'm fine with any of them)

She/They preferred, but you can call me anything so long as it is NOT he/him (on the same note, if you call me man/dude/bro/guy I will flood your house)

Im a minor (17 years old), and am trans and a Massive Lesbian

If you're a terf, a homophobe, or a pedophile: go away please okay? Otherwise pretty much anybody is welcome here so long as you arent hurting anybody

Im an artist, animator, and a game designer (i have a youtube and an itch.io page but neither of them have much on them) (im uh. not quite as good at finishing projects as i am at starting them)

I have an alt account @red-gamedev-0w0 which is where i post about games im working on.

my DMs, asks, and anons are always open if you wanna be silly, and honestly it really makes my day when i get a message. only rules are no anon hate (if you send me any anon hate i will either just delete the message or mock you, you wont actualy make me feel sad so dont bother) and no being horny (unless we know each other and thats how we interact, or unless you send me a message saying "hey im going to say something that might be horny to you if youre comfortable" as a heads up)

I have a silly little OC universe, please please please please please ask me to infodump to you about them please I am begging you.

I AM VERY STRONGLY AGAINST AI ART. (and just. generative AI in general) (yes that includes chat gpt and character AI)

I am... incredibly normal about the ocean. I have healthy and reasonable emotions I feel when i think about it. dont question why "erins ocean posting" is one of my most used tags its totaly healthy trust me (is it a religious thing? a sexual thing? a gender thing? you will literaly never know)

The fandoms im in are: Aurora Webcomic, The Mechanisms, Life Series, Hermitcraft, Mineraft, Terraria, Hollow Knight, Celeste, Hades, Camp Here And There, Murder Drones, The Magnus Podcasts, Epic the Musical, Hello From the Hallowoods, Witherburn After School News, Dont Hug Me Im Scared, The Locked Tomb, Hatchetfield, Centaurworld, Amphibia, Epithet Erased, Kid Vampire, and Bigtop Burger (+ a few more but those are the ones you'll see the most of)

#1 Killers fan (their best album is Sams Town and the best song is Bones and thats a fact)

I really, really hate Dantes Inferno and the Sierpinski triangle

Id love to be friends, enemies, or really anything in between if you let me.

Tags I use (in case you want to block them):

#erins cryptic ramblings (generic tag)

#erins ocean posting (for ocean related posts)

#axe and erins dnd bullshit (for when im talking about dnd with one of my mutuals)

#the forever day (my OCs)

#erin answers asks (self explanitory)

#erin talks about life /#erin complains about life (also self explanitory)

#erins tumblr ad saga (my compilation of all the worst ads this hellsite has to offer)

#erins coding adventures (for whenever im posting about making a game)

And that’s about it!

Nice to meet you!

[hato-roleplay-representatives]

Front Desk

Hello, hello, welcome in! We are (some of) the admins for the HATO roleplay blogs! If you have any questions related to the lore and current events regarding the roleplay side of things, we are here to help!

What is HATO?

HATO (Hermits And The Olympians) is a Percy Jackson au made by the amazing @ahllohehn right here on Tumblr! It consists of Camp Hermitcraft; the Greek camp, and Camp Empires; the Roman one. And some more... we'll say secrets... that might be unlocked upon the way...

So, what's the deal with this blog?

We are here to answer any not in-character questions surrounding the au: specifically the roleplay blogs and the plots happening with them. Instead of asking Ichi (the creator), direct such questions to us instead! Goodness knows he doesn't know what's going on half the time, and we don't either :D but between all of us someone on the team should be able to help.

Mod Introductions

Ello! My name is Raven, I'm the admin of the Gem blog! Any pronouns are fine, with a preference towards neopronouns. (Tag: 💚Raven)

Yello!! I'm Mars, the admin of the Oli, Aphrodite, and Daphne blog! and aspiring Joey blog I use they/them pronouns!! (Tag: 🌕Mars)

Hey! My name is Sky, and I am the admin of the Cub and Wels blogs! I use mainly use he/she/they/it's pronouns, but any are fine. (Tag: ☁️ Sky)

haaaii im icarus!! :3 i run the ren, tango, sausage, and lityerses accounts!1!! i use any prns but would prefer if you mixed em around! (Tag: 🪽Icarus)

Hello!!! I’m Kate. I run Jimmy, Pearl and Hermes’ account (you may see me constantly spam ichi) I use She/Her. (Tag: Kate💖)

Heya! I'm Emma! I run Cleo, Scott, Artemis, and Apollo accounts. I use she/her or she/they, I don't really care either way! (Tag: Emma💙)

Hiiii! Violet here! I run the Xisuma, PIxlriffs, and Hyancithus blogs! I'm the writer behind the CHC recap, and I use she/they pronouns. (Tag: Violet ✒️)

Hiya I'm Linny! I run the Mumbo, Joel, Shelby and Athena blogs. Jeesh that's a lot. I use she/her pronouns. (Tag: Linny 🦄)

Yo, im Oz/Ozzie, I run the Etho and martyn blogs. I use he/they (tag: Ozzie ☠️)

(please note that this is not everyone that runs the rp blogs! just those of us running this one!)

What if I want to join?

Never fear! The amazing Icarus compiled a list of all blogs currently active, which will be available below 👇

TAKEN/OPEN CHARACTERS

With that all out of the way, welcome to the office! Inquiries are welcome 😁

[fishcow99]

LET'S FUCKING GO WE'RE BACK BABY

Welcome to this cesspool of a blog

I AM A MINOR

����FREE PALESTINE 🍉

Pronouns: your guess is as good as mine

almost sixteen so i really should start on permit stuff

my ao3 is fishcow99 and my writing blog is fishcowwrites

#LBMFW - for the full threads of my reactions to various musicals

#incorrect quotes - for incorrect quotes ive made

#ao3 out of context - for some nice out of context ao3

#the A saga - the full story of my shitshow of an obsession with a guy i met like a month ago plus any current tidbits (A if you find this please cleanse your mind of anything you see)

#ventpilled mentalillnessmaxxing - if for some reason you wanna look at my vents n shit or so u know what to block. yes i know the name is stupid but i thought it was funny so its staying

masterlist for shit

fandoms:

✨HARMONY✨ (PLEASE WATCH/LISTEN I BEG)

Newsies

The Outsiders

Falsettos

Illinoise

Hermitcraft/Life Series/Empires

some other MCYTs

Deaf West Spring Awakening

Epic the Musical

Panic

Challengers

Book of Mormon

Little Shop of Horrors

Beetlejuice

Good Omens

Doctor Who

Mean Girls

West side story (kinda)

Tuck Everlasting

Psych

certain Shakespeare plays

The Maze Runner

the speedrunning/nuzlockeing/animating group of youtubers

the irish lads (youtube)

Hazbin Hotel (kinda)

and many other things

spreading my ray x dodge/derek x tom/silvius x orlando/tony x riff/davis x neeley/heinz x wellington/ryan x esposito/troy x glenn propaganda (panic, SMASH, as you like it, west side story, BOM, broadway whodunit, castle, theater camp)

instructions for cleaning cuts

self harm alternatives

if you are a dick i will block you!!!

[rqs-arcade]

Do you do inbox checks?

yuuppp!

alastor moodboard with lovecore themes

tobby playlist

hermitcraft ethoslab name suggestions

stimboard with the color pink, iced drinks, winter, and polyamory

moodboard for c!tommy , c!puffy , and c!sam with a family dynamic

c!connoreatspants moodboard with blue and time travelling

moodboard for setsuna from school days with shy, lonely, a good friend, pastel

selene moodboard from selene apoptosis with themes of horror, trauma core, kitten/petplay

moodboard for lisette from dead end aegis with aesthetics of working hard, self confidence and galaxy themes

caregiver strade (boyfriend to death) board

jade harley name recs

utena hiiragi moodboard from gushing over magical girls with themes of being shy, a domme, socially awkward

kyouko from nie no hakoniwa moodboard with themes of horror, gore and yandereism

ricky rizzo (a company of heroes) and david webster (band of brothers) mood board

moodboard for dolorosa x rose

scout x sniper moodboard

icons for a ren hana w/ the hpd & deaf flag

moodboard for a noncanon welcome to the game 2 kin

c!quackity x c!ranboo moodboard

stimboard for an alan turing fcktive

moodboard for an anonymous electronic musician factkin

strade stimboard with camping

rick x morty stimboard

elquackity icons with the hpd and/or the aspd

vox name suggestions

pride icons for barry allen

moodboard for man Sui x Liang from the hungry lamb:traveling through the mood dynasty

magical girl themed titles for someone who's kin with athena cykes from ace attorney

cheshire cat moodboard dark victorian theme

cheshire cat stimboard black cats, knifes and cards

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter One)

It's 1988. Grian and Mumbo are roommates living in the US. Mumbo leaves on a solo camping trip at Grian's suggestion to get away from his job for a while. But when he fails to check in at the end of his trip, Grian is forced to report him as a missing person. And now the clock is ticking.

It's 1989. Grian takes a job in Shoshone National Forest as a fire lookout, prepared to spend the summer alone in the wilderness. But his primary goal isn't finding forest fires: it's finding Mumbo, who went missing in this location a year ago, alive and well. He expects to be alone. What Grian doesn't expect is having the company of the other nearby lookout, a man named Scar. Their relationship grows through their conversations held via two-way radio, as Grian finally begins to let Scar into the truth about why he's really here and mystery he's unraveling.

A Hermitcraft Firewatch AU.

Chapter One: 7,162 words

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

Welcome to the Firewatch AU! It's okay if you've never played the game, since the plot of this story is different than in the game. If you have played the game, you'll notice some similarities, especially in the setting. If you plan to play the game, this fic will not spoil it. I just really really like fire lookouts :]

Content warnings will be added per chapter as needed. I've done a lot of research on this topic so some there will also be some notes on a reblog. This fic will be Grian and Scar centric, but it's also very much about Mumbo as well. There will also be the inclusion of art with the chapters.

May 31, 1988

Grian remembers it because it’s 7:30 PM on a Tuesday evening, and he’s sitting at his desk in front of the window trying to catch the early evening slanted sunbeams on his sketchbook. The light is golden on the page and his hand casts a shadow on his work. 

That’s when Mumbo crashes through the front door–quite literally, too. The door swings shut with a bang. It’s a heavy door prone to closing on its own.

Without looking up, Grian calls out, “Remember not to slam it! Mrs. Grant complained last week, you know.”

“Right! Right, sorry!”

“Bad commute?” Grian asks. 

He hears Mumbo drop his bag in the corner with a sigh, and the sound of him flopping down on the couch. Grian turns around to look at him sympathetically. Mumbo has dramatically put his palms over his eyes, slowly dragging them down his face.

“Ugh,” he groans. “It was the worst. Someone wrecked on 25.”

“That sucks.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mumbo says. “How long have you been sitting here? All day?”

“Nuh-uh, I had a meeting today with Mr. Perry.”

“Did that go well?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, lying through his teeth. But only just a little. 

Mumbo hops up off the couch and walks over to Grian’s desk. “Is that what you’re drawing now?” he asks. He picks up the sketchbook. 

“Yes,” Grian says sagely. “I have many ideas.”

Mumbo squints at the page. “You’ve only got a tree, Grian.”

“Hey!” Grian says, snatching his sketchbook back. “Look around! There’s plenty of trees out here! Well, maybe not on this street specifically, but give me like 20 minutes and I’ll drive you to a big forest.”

“Oof. Make it an hour. The traffic’s awful today, I told you.”

Grian and Mumbo stare at the tree drawing for a few seconds. “Is it at least a nice tree?” Grian asks. 

“You’re supposed to be drawing houses, mate,” Mumbo says, amused. “Your meeting went terribly, didn’t it?”

“I have absolutely nothing,” Grian says. “Zilch! Zip! Nada! Empty brain. I can tell you there will be at least one tree next to his house, though.”

“Imagine that,” Mumbo says. “Million dollar house on a mountainside. One tree guaranteed.”

It’s Grian’s turn to use the shut up line. “Shut up,” he says. 

There’s something ticking in Mumbo’s brain, and Grian can tell. He looks past Grian through the window with the streaming gold light, out at the mountains in the not-so-far distance. And Grian remembers it, even when he doesn’t want to.

“We should go camping,” Mumbo says. “Get out of the city for a few days. See some trees with no houses next to them. Get away from all that highway traffic.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Grian says. “This weekend? Do you want me to call and see if I can reserve a spot in the national park? Or a little more west and hit a national forest?”

Mumbo screws up his face a little at that. “Let’s go a bit further this time,” he suggests. “Do several days instead of just a weekend. We could even leave the state. Go someplace we haven’t already been a million times. Maybe even a little more remote.”

“When?” Grian asks. 

“Is next week too soon? I could just take off midweek and we could go drive somewhere. Please? Think of all those early summer wildflowers up in the mountains.”

“Dude, I can’t take off mid-week,” Grian says sharply, suddenly feeling very frustrated. “You know that. I need to be finishing these designs! You gotta give me more notice than this, Mumbo.”

“Right,” is all Mumbo says, and he looks so tragic that Grian already feels bad for snapping at him. 

“Is it that bad at work?” he asks. 

Mumbo looks away, past Grian back back out into the mountains in the distance. “I just don’t know if I can take another week,” he admits. “I need to take some time off. And hey, maybe he’ll even fire me this time for giving him only a week’s notice that I’m taking vacation time!”

“You need that job for your visa,” Grian points out softly. 

Mumbo rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll try to keep my job I guess. No trying to get fired. I’m still taking that time off though.”

“He wouldn’t fire you anyway,” Grian says. “You’re much too useful.”

That causes Mumbo to crack a little, and he starts to smile again. “Yeah, mate, that place’ll burn down without me. If I leave for a week they’ll be begging me to come back and fix everything that went wrong.”

“If anything, that’ll just ensure your job security!” Grian says. “Hey, maybe you could just go without me. I’d love to go, I really would, but I can’t lose this deal with Mr. Perry. I’m the project leader this time and he’ll likely drop the whole project if I don't so much as answer the phone on the first ring…”

“Rich people,” Mumbo says with a nod.

“Ugh, yes, rich people,” Grian says, and throws his head down on his desk for dramatic measure.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Mumbo says. He thinks for a moment. Grian lifts his head and watches the way contemplation flashes across Mumbo’s face. 

“Dude, just go by yourself,” Grian urges. “I can’t stand to watch you drive yourself insane another week. You’ve done it before, right? And why don’t you bring the bike? That way you can do all those difficult trails you’re always trying to drag me down without worrying about me wrecking it.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, and he remembers this too, for as long as he lives, “I bet it’ll be fun."

»»———-　　———-««

June 16, 1988

Grian is bouncing his leg, trying to bleed off nervous energy with every shake. He’s bouncing his leg because at least his leg is hidden under the table he’s sitting at, whereas the pen he’d been tapping earlier was about to have resulted in an annoyed client and lost job. 

The table is large, and oval. He’s in some weird conference room-home office place in Mr. Perry’s gigantic house, discussing the floor plan for yet another gigantic house Mr. Perry wants to build. Mr. Perry, of course, hates half of the floor plan Grian has proposed. 

Grian hasn’t quite figured out why Mr. Perry needs two gigantic houses, but it really isn’t his business considering he’s being paid. And he’s being paid very well for this. It’s probably the best job he’s landed since he started and he’s grateful his boss let him take this client, annoying as he is. This newest house would be within walking distance of a ski lift though, and this house isn’t, so Grian can at least see the value there.

He bounces his leg. He tries to count how many times he bounces it in a minute, only to find that he can’t really keep up with the passage of time, number of bounces, and the bouncing itself all at the same time. He loses track instantly. But if he can just get through this meeting, then he can make an excuse to go home. Only 4,000 leg bounces until he’s passed enough time to leave. He’ll be out of this stuffy room like a bullet. 

He’s thinking so hard about leaving this meeting and going home that he forgets that he has to actually be in the meeting first. 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Perry says sharply. “Did you hear any of what I just said to you?”

“Hm?” Grian says back, before suddenly being slammed back into reality. “Oh, apologies sir. Can you repeat that, please? I must have been a little distracted.” He gives a wan smile. 

Mr. Perry gives him a long look. “I was saying that I don’t think I like the placement of this room.” He jabs a finger at the blueprints. “I mean, who needs a parlor these days, let alone a second parlor? I want to change it.”

Grian squints at the room in question. “I think we could open it up to the kitchen and living room,” he offers. “Open concept and all that. There’s a lovely view to be had that’s being blocked by the walls right now.”

“Let’s make it a pool room,” Mr. Perry says. 

“Uh, a pool room sir? On the second floor?”

“Not an entire pool, that’s nonsense,” he says. “Just a large indoor hot tub. It’ll be cold out when I’m visiting this house.”

“I…I think I can do something like that, sir,” Grian responds. “We’ll just ensure that the engineers clear it for the amount of water weight it would put on the floor and add extra support if needed.”

“Can there be some windows or screens in the room?”

“You mean on the inside wall?”

“Yeah. So I could see the hot tub from the living room if I wanted.”

“Um, sure. We can do that.”

He sneaks a glance at his watch. Only 35 minutes to go now. 

He just…doesn’t want to think about it. He just needs to leave. He’ll get home, make the phone call, and it will be okay and he’ll feel silly. But every second he’s stuck in this godforsaken massive house is just another second he has to spend knowing that he’s delaying something very, very important. 

If he thinks about it, he’s going to spiral, so instead he keeps trying to channel every bit of the nervous energy into his right foot. 

“Grian,” Mr. Perry says, and Grian snaps his head back up from the blueprints, a little surprised that the man has used his first name. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like to leave early?” Mr. Perry asks. “Since you clearly have somewhere else you want to be.”

Grian freezes. “My apologies sir, I’m not trying to make you feel rushed in this process. It’s very important to me that you feel like everything in your future home is exactly how you want it, no matter how many tries it takes for us to get to the perfect result.”

“I don’t appreciate it when my employees lie to me, you know,” Mr. Perry says. “Save the corporate spiel for later. You’re making me exhausted just looking at you. I think if you bounce that leg any faster it’ll fly off.”

“Oh,” Grian says with a hint of a nervous chuckle. “Suppose that’s true.”

“You can go home now,” Mr. Perry says. “You’re not paying attention anyway. Just get me some new ideas for that hot tub room and we’ll reconvene on Monday.”

“Yes sir, thank you so much,” Grian blurts, and grabs his papers off the desk, and tries to walk out of the door at a normal speed instead of sprinting.

»»———-　　———-««

He arrives home a little after 3:30 pm, tossing his bag and papers haphazardly on the couch as soon as he runs in. The door accidentally slams again, but he doesn’t really care what Mrs. Grant thinks today. His goal is the phone on the table by the kitchen; even all the way across the room he can see the message light blinking on the answering machine next to it. 

He pulls the phone off its rack and presses to listen to the message on the tape. It plays, and…he sets the receiver back down. 

It’s just his landlord, calling to say that he won’t be around to fix the door for another few days. 

Grian paces once around the living room, then twice. 

He pauses in front of the window. It’s clear and sunny out, with very little smog on the horizon. The mountains are in clear view. 

Grian returns to the phone, and dials 411. Directory assistance. He’s not quite sure the number he needs to call for this, and his local phone books are of no use for out of state numbers. An operator picks up. 

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to place a call to the Shoshone National Forest Ranger Station. Location? Uh, I think it’s in Cody, Wyoming. Yes, thank you.”

A minute or two later with the correct number for the office scribbled on a notepad, Grian is patched through. A young woman answers the phone. 

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” she asks. 

“Erm, hi,” Grian says. “I’m calling because I’m worried about my friend. He was in the National Forest and he’s missed his check-in.”

“How long has it been since he missed his check-in window?”

“Several hours at least,” Grian answers. “He told me it might be late, or really really early, so I was expecting a call last night or this morning. But I didn’t receive one. I left for work early, thought maybe he’d taken a bit more time than he told me, but it just nagged at me. It was supposed to be hours ago. When I came home just now there’s no message on the answering machine.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, darling,” the ranger says. “Can you please give me some information about him? Full name, age, appearance, vehicle, license plate if you know it, and the trails or locations he told you he would be hiking in? We can pass that information on and begin a search.”

A knot in Grian’s throat forms at the word search. “Of course,” he replies. 

He rattles off the information as she asks for it, from Mumbo’s somewhat rickety AWD sedan that he was always convinced he could drag down any road he wanted, to his dark hair and mustache. He gives her Mumbo’s full real name, and feels a little silly when he includes the nickname right along with it, but he figures Mumbo might appreciate it. He tells her the trails Mumbo had mentioned doing, and how many days he planned to spend hiking. 

“He brought his mountain bike too,” he says. “I don’t know if he took it with him on any overnight hikes but he had a setup for that, where he could strap his pack to the bike.”

“Thank you,” the ranger says. “Being on a bike could extend the range he could be in, but it could also limit which trails he could be on due to terrain. Here, I’m going to patch you into the local Sheriff’s office to make a report too, is that okay? I’ll call some of the field offices and get some rangers on this. We’ll start by checking for his car at the trailheads.”

“Thank you,” Grian says.

He calls the Sheriff’s office and makes a report. He tells them much of the same information he told the ranger, and the second time repeating it only makes it seem more macabre. He answers all the questions to the best of his ability. Yes, Mumbo was an experienced hiker. No, he was not having a personal crisis, just wanted a few days off work to unwind. 

And then he sits and waits. The whole process had only taken a little over an hour. 

He paces some more for a while. He goes to the kitchen to get some water, drinks that, and finds it only killed a couple minutes, so he goes and paces some more. He stares out the window for a while again. Then, he organizes some of the papers he hastily threw down when he got home, because it’s still probably not a good idea to risk losing or bending any of Mr. Perry’s documents. 

He gets another call around 8 pm. 

“We found his car,” the ranger says. “It's still at the trailhead.”

“So he never made it back to his car last night.” So he’s not just a spoon who forgot to find a payphone and give his friend a call. 

“I’m afraid not.”

“So…so what now?” Grian asks. 

“We’ll start sending some rangers and volunteers down the trail to look for him, in case he’s hung up somewhere and needs a little help. His bike wasn’t in his vehicle, so he must have had that with him.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Please keep me updated.”

That night, Grian doesn’t sleep, and the next morning Grian doesn’t go into work. He’s already driving northwest. 

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

11 Months Later

He’s grateful when he finally rolls up to the trailhead after being jerked around on the rocky, uneven road for the last 19 miles. He’s the only one in the small lot, which is less of a parking area and more of a clearing at the terminal point of the road. 

He lays his head back on the headrest for a moment just to rest, eyes closed, and sighs. The sun through the windshield is warm on his forehead, but the day outside is pleasantly cool with the bite of winter still on the wind. There’ll still be snow on the mountaintops for a while yet. 

It’s noon. He spent the night in Cody, in an old motel but different room and left in the morning with his whole life packed in a bag. He has a long hike ahead of him this afternoon, and he won’t get there tonight. But he might as well start. 

Grian gets out of the car and inspects it. It’s a 1978 Chevy Blazer he picked up two weeks ago when he realized he was going to need a 4x4 to even make it to the trailhead and traded in his old sedan. Its red and white paint is covered completely in a coat of dust and topped off with several mud splashes from snow meltwater on the road.

Fortunately, nothing rattled off the vehicle during its inaugural off-road journey, so Grian is just left to hope it still has air in its tires the next time he hikes back out. And that might not be for a while, so he’s stocked it with a spare and patch kit. He has an elementary knowledge of how to fix a tire but he figures the motivation of being stranded 19 miles back on this empty road will breed enough desperate ingenuity to fix any problems he encounters. 

Grian grabs his pack from the backseat, and starts down the trail. 

Grian loses himself for a while during the hike. It’s easy to do that–to just walk and turn your brain off completely. One foot in front of the other over and over. The motions over and over tune the rest of Grian’s brain into a nice numbness. He listens to his boots crunch gravel and dry leaves. He looks at how the sun dapples the trail. 

He hikes onward.

The forest is loud in a way the city isn’t. It’s not the type of loudness that announces itself, but the longer Grian hikes onward and alone the more its presence makes itself known. It’s like Grian’s brain is getting rid of the noise that’s filled it for so long and allowing him to really listen to the sounds of life. 

The wind whistles through the trees, shaking the pine needles. It doesn’t blow on Grian; the taller trees around him shield him from the gusts. He hears the light gurgle of a creek well before he comes down a hill to cross it, and when he approaches it a frog leaps away from the bank. 

At one point, Grian’s dragged out of his silent contemplation by the commotion of rattling leaves in the undergrowth next to him. It spikes his heart rate and he freezes in place, until a medium sized brown spotted bird explodes out of a bush at the side of the trail and flies away, low to the ground. 

He smiles a little to himself. Just a bird, startled by a person. He is trespassing, in a way, it seems, to intrude his presence upon such a wild area. This is the bird’s home, not his. He’s just being offered a place in it to protect it. 

He hikes onward as the sun dips lower in the sky.

»»———-　　———-««

June 17, 1988

Grian arrives at the Forest Service office in Cody, Wyoming at half past ten in the morning. The sky is blazing blue and cloudless, but there’s haze on the horizon. 

He stumbles into the office, brushes a piece of greasy hair that’s fallen on his forehead back up, and tells a slightly-startled looking lady at the front desk: “I’m here to join a volunteer search. My friend’s missing.”

She looks him up and down with a critical, yet sympathetic eye. “What’s your name, sir?” she asks, in a way that suggests she might already know. 

“Grian.”

“Grian, where did you drive in from?”

Grian stares at her. “Denver. Why?”

“Denver’s eight hours away,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

She sighs, and gives him a look. A pitying one that he hates. “Darling, how much sleep did ya get? It’s not even noon yet.”

Grian huffs. “I don’t know. An hour or two. I’m fine!” He looks at her pleadingly. “Please, just let me know where I can go to help out.”

She just shakes her head, and picks up the phone on her desk. Grian watches her dial it, and hopes for a second she’s calling another ranger to come escort him or something, but that hope is crushed the moment she speaks again.

“Hello?” she asks on the line, and waits while the other person answers. “Yes, I was wondering if you had a room available. You do? Good. I’m going to send someone over your way. Yeah, I’m doing good, how are you? Glad to hear it. Thanks, darling. Yeah, he’ll be coming in a bit.”

She hangs up and scribbles something on a notebook, before tearing out the page and handing it to Grian. It’s got a short list of directions. Down the road two miles, turn right on the second road after the bridge.

“It’s a nice little motel not too far from here,” she says. “They’ll give you a room and you can get some rest.” 

Grian shoves the paper back across the desk at her. “No. Tell me what I can do to join the search for my friend, please.”

She smiles saccharine-sweet and hands the paper back to him again. “Take it. I don’t want to see you back here for at least another few hours. In fact, I won’t give you any information unless you come back in a few hours. Get some sleep, you stayed up all night and just drove eight hours straight. You’ll be much better equipped to help out if you aren’t too tired to hike.”

Grian feels frustration well up in his chest, consuming the ball of anxiety in his chest. It threatens to break him too, so he looks away from the ranger and at the floor instead, though. Finally he speaks again. “My friend,” he whispers. “Will he be okay?”

The woman answers, “All our rangers are trained in search and rescue. They’re professionals. This is what they do, Grian, and they’re good at it. They’ll do everything in their power to find him.”

Grian nods tightly. 

“Now get some sleep, darling.”

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

It’s night when Grian arrives at the tower, on his second day of hiking. He’s been backpacking many times before, but the rough terrain on this hike was still a surprise. It’s difficult to scale rocky hills with a bulky pack, and his shoulders are sore and his walking is slower now–so it’s night by the time Grian arrives at the place that’s going to be his home through October. 

It’s a wooden tower built on a hill. A staircase winds itself around, leading to the top where there’s a single room surrounded by boarded up windows. Nearby on the ground is an outhouse, small storage shed, a generator, a water tap, and nothing else. 

Well, at least he’ll have electricity. He’ll have water too, but it seems like he’ll have to haul it. He knows from his lookout orientation a few days ago that there’s a water tank with rainwater catchment and filters, but there’s no way to pump it 30 feet to the top of the tower.  

Grian turns on the generator, and heads up the steps with the single-minded determination of an exhausted man who knows there’s a bed waiting for him. When he arrives at the top he throws on the lights, tosses his pack down, and surveys the place. 

He was expecting it to be pretty dusty and ill-maintained, but it seems pretty clean. There’s bedding folded up neatly on the mattress–Grian had been expecting to just use his sleeping bag. It looks like someone had been sent to the tower recently to clean and stock it in preparation for his arrival, which he appreciates. 

He’s not really sure the level of effort it takes to maintain this place out here in the wilderness, and his mind goes down a brief rabbit hole. How was all this wood hauled out here? What about the nails, the rivets, the glass, the tanks? Was it hauled up on the same trail he just spent a day and half walking down? They must have used horses to carry materials but someone still had to assemble all this. He has a lot of respect for that. 

Grian is just starting to lay out the bedding when something over on the table begins to crackle. He walks over to inspect it. It’s a small black handheld radio sitting on a charging stand. He was told he’d have one of these. 

It’s not set on the frequency he was told to keep it at, but before he's able to tune it to the correct one, it crackles to life anyway.

“Two Forks, Two Forks come in! This is KSNF, broadcasting to you live from Thorofare. Your host on this fine spring evening is-”

Grian picks up the radio. “Hello?”

“-none other than Scar.” 

Grian sighs. Of course, this is a two-way radio. He can’t respond until the other person on the line has stopped talking. He waits as the so-called Scar keeps going. It occurs to him that he might be trapped out here all summer with this guy.

“He’s brilliant, he’s handsome, and he’s calling you dear listeners, hoping to hear your thoughts. What ails you tonight? What are your hopes, dreams, loves, losses? Or perhaps, what is your name, Two Forks?”

Grian, sensing the pause, jumps in. “Um, hi,” he says. “This is Grian. The new lookout at Two Forks. And you must be…Scar, I presume?”

“Grian!” the radio chatters. “What an interesting name. Yes, I’m Scar. I’ll be your supervisor this summer, ‘cause I’m so good at this. I’m also practically your next door neighbor.”

Grian looks out the window, but it’s dark and the windows just reflect himself. He looks away. “Uh, yeah. How did you even know when I got here? Where are you?”

“I saw your lights flick on,” Scar replies. “Been keeping an eye out for when you’d arrive. Go outside, you’ll see my lookout to the north.”

Grian steps outside, feeling the chill in his bones again. Once he stopped hiking and rested for a few minutes, the warmth from the movement wore off and he’s reminded again how cold spring nights in the mountains are. Sure enough, out in the distance, snuggled amongst the dark peaks, is a tiny orange light. 

“Oh,” he says. “There you are. I see your light too.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Scar says. “We’re the only lights out here tonight. Nothing else for miles around. Not even a campfire–well, of course not, ‘cause those are banned right now. Please report any of those you see.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Grian says. “That is the job, is it not?”

“Oh, we've got a smart one,” Scar replies, and it’s a sentence that would probably sound acerbic in anyone else’s mouth, but Grian detects no sharpness in the words. Just friendliness. 

There’s an awkward few moments on the radio, before Grian speaks again. “Okay, erm, I’m gonna call it a night, then. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” Scar calls, and then, “Wait, wait, don’t go yet. Your radio, um, write down the frequency band we’re on right now. Keep that.”

“Um, okay,” Grian says. “It’s different from the one I was told in orientation.”

“Yeah, we’ll use that one too. That’s the one you need to report on. This one’s just for us. You don’t want the whole Forest Service to hear us chatting all the time, do you?”

Great. This guy wants to chat with Grian.

“I guess not,” he says finally, not untruthfully. He doesn’t really want anyone to overhear him talking, because he doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone in the first place. Half the point of taking this job was the distinct lack of human contact in every possible aspect, after all. 

“Good! Anyway, talk to you tomorrow, um….Grian. Your name was Grian.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the mosquitoes bite, Grian!”

He flicks the switch on the radio to the off position before Scar can say anything else, and runs a hand tiredly through his hair. This might be a long summer, and he cannot allow this guy to distract him from the other half of the reason he took this job:

He’s here to save Mumbo.

»»———-　　———-««

“Two Forks! Two Forks come in!”

Grian wakes up to the tinny sound of his radio across the room, and streaming golden sunlight over his face. But mostly the radio. 

“Oh wonderful lookout of the tower over yonder, wake up! It’s a beautiful afternoon today, the sun is shining, and I can let you sleep no longer! Alas, our duty calls. Two Forks, answer your radio.”

Grian rolls over and puts a pillow on his head. Scar continues. 

“Perhaps this is like a fairytale,” Scar muses. “Are you sleeping beauty, locked away in your tower, desperately waiting for true love’s kiss? Well, I can hardly speak for your true love, so you’ll have to settle and wake for me instead. Do you like Disney, Two Forks? What’s your favorite movie?”

Grian kicks his blanket onto the floor and slides unceremoniously out of bed. He sways for a moment. His legs aren’t really sure they’re ready to support him today, not after all the mountain climbing he did the other day. Then he strides resolutely to the other side of the room, picks up the radio, and turns the switch off. 

Ah, peace. 

Grian wanders over and sits on the bed for another few minutes, letting his mind spin out and gain traction again. He takes his glasses out of their case beside the bed and puts them on. The sun is bright and high in the sky, so it’s not early. It casts the room in a nice light, and Grian takes his first opportunity to look over his new home. It’s painted an old and slightly chipped white, with little posters and photos pinned to open spaces on the walls. The room is mostly filled by its spacious windows. They frame every side of every wall, almost as if Grian is living in a glass house. 

The view is, of course, spectacular. 

The mountains are both jagged in some places and rounded in others. He can see hills upon hills for miles, wrinkling out into the horizon like a piece of crumpled paper. There’s pockets of meadow and open woodland that contrast with thicker pine forests, creating a patchwork. The hillsides are painted in different greens–an aspen grove there, fir here, golden spring grass, or the bright spring flowers he can see coloring patches of the meadow. The sky is a blazing blue, and there is no haze on the horizon.

It would be spectacular, wouldn’t it? Something so beautiful would have to be so cruel. Grian is already familiar with these views in the way of someone scorned. He’s been here before, and this time he isn’t leaving without dragging the secrets from the darkest valleys. 

Grian stands up again, a little more clear headed, and heads to the stove. It’s propane powered, and he’s grateful it exists at all. He takes out a small metal pot and, upon finding it dusty, casts it aside and pulls his own camp pot from his pack. He’ll wash things later. He pours some water in it, sets it to boil, and tries to figure out where he’s set his tea. 

With a mug of tea in hand–tragically no milk and a supply of sugar he’s decided to use very, very sparingly–and the radio in his other hand, Grian steps out onto the wraparound walkway at the top of his tower. It makes for a nice deck. 

Lazily, he flips the radio back on. “This is Two Forks,” he says smoothly. “I’m awake now, what do you need?”

“G-man!” Scar nearly shouts on the other end. “It’s great to hear your voice this afternoon.”

“Ugh, afternoon,” Grian groans. He checks his watch. “It’s what, 12:30? Lunchtime? Already?”

“You’ll be okay,” Scar says. “You’re not really officially on duty until tomorrow anyway. I always like to check on the new lookouts on the first day anyway, though. You doing good?”

“Fine.”

There’s a pause, like Scar was clearly waiting for more than that. Grian is giving him nothing. After a moment he gets the memo and proceeds. 

“Good to know, good to know. So, G-man,” he starts. “You’re a lookout now. That means your only job, from now until October, is to keep an eye on this forest for any fires. If you see a fire, report it to me, or to the rangers on the official channel. I’m talking campfires, fireworks, lightning strikes, everything. You got that?”

“I believe I can handle it,” Grian says drily. “I’m pretty good at looking out windows.”

“Do you see the round thing on a table in the center of the room?” Scar asks. Grian does not, because Grian is outside on his deck, but he’s seen it before already and doesn’t feel like walking back inside to play along.. “That’s your Osborne Fire-Finder. I assume they taught you how to use that?”

“Yeah. Always keep it calibrated, locate the fire in the rotating sight, and use the tool’s measurements to determine its location and precise angle.”

“Wow, you’re going to put me out of a job!” Scar says, and somehow Grian just knows he’s genuinely beaming on the other end of the line. 

“I can’t be in two lookouts at once, now can I?” Grian says, words sharp. It doesn’t phase Scar.

He continues. “The only other real thing is that you need to report daily first thing in the morning with the weather conditions at your tower. This helps us keep track of what the fire danger is on any given day or week, so I expect you to take that seriously. Additionally, you’ll be expected to keep logs of conditions in your area. Anything else, well, I’ll just help you with it if it comes up!”

“Cool.”

“Any questions, G-man?” Scar asks. 

“Um, yeah,” Grian says. “Just one. Have you been calling me ‘G-man’?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, follow up question. Can you stop?”

“Nope!” Scar says brightly. “Every lookout needs a nickname, it’s only fun. I suppose if you had a nickname you’d rather be called though, I can consider it.”

“Uh, no,” Grian says. “I don’t have another nickname for you to use.”

“Aw, too bad. I guess it’ll just stay G-man, then.”

Grian is nearly overcome for a moment, and, despite the objectively peaceful surroundings, desires to tear his hair out. He does not. Instead he replies, in his most carefully snarky tone, “Fine. Is Scar your nickname, then? What’s your real name?”

“Grian!” Scar exclaims, in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this is my legal name, thank you very much.”

“I have so many reasons to doubt that.”

“I would never lie to you, G-man.”

Grian rolls his eyes at that, but he can’t stop the corner of his mouth from turning up. He takes a sip of his tea. It’s nice in his hands, warm, and the smell alone is making him feel more at home. There’s silence on the radio for a long time, and Grian almost assumes that Scar has gone. He’s fine with that being the end of their discussion for the day. 

Scar isn’t gone, though, and after a while the radio crackles again. “Say, G-man,” he starts. “Now that you’ve asked me your questions, mind if I ask one of my own? A little equivalent exchange, you know.”

“Go ahead.” Grian sips his drink. 

“Where are you from?”

“Denver.” It’s not untrue. 

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude,” Scar says tentatively, “but…where are you from before that?”

Grian sighs. “England.”

“I knew it!” Scar cries. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to shout, there, my bad! It’s just interesting to me, that’s all! You’ve got such a lovely accent.”

“I guess,” Grian says. “You never met a British person before?”

“Oh, sure,” Scar says. “I’ve met several tourists from the UK. But between you and me, most people flyin’ across the ocean for a vacation tend to just stop at Yellowstone or Grand Teton instead of here. And the ones that do don’t stray too deep into the Forest.”

“Yeah, well, s’bit far back here. Took me two days to hike in and then I slept until noon afterwards.”

“Yeah, that hike tends to beat people up,” Scar says. “So. What on earth brings someone from England to Colorado to Wyoming?”

“Maybe I just like the mountains.”

“You don’t have mountains in England?” Scar gasps in horror. “Oh my goodness, that’s a tragedy. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“No, it’s like, well–we do have mountains in England. It’s just, well, they aren’t exactly like this are they? It’s a different sort of landscape. And besides, the place I grew up in just had hills.”

“Oh,” Scar said. “You know, I’ve never been to England. Never really left the western half of this country, actually. Is it pretty there?”

Grian thinks back, to cobblestone streets in town and misty mornings. He thinks of the way everything was just drenched in vibrant green in the summers. He thinks of old churches with ivy on the walls and fields of grass hemmed in by stone fences. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty there.”

“Man,” Scar says. “I’ll have to go one of these days. I am wondering, though–it’s not, uh, very common to meet, um, someone from another country working this job. Since the Forest Service is a federal agency, you know.”

Grian scoffs. “Isn’t this line of question a little forward for a first introduction?” he asks. “Whatever. It’s not like they didn’t poke into my background enough during the hiring process. I have dual citizenship–free, clear, whatever you wanna call it, to work for the US government.”

“That’s so cool,” Scar says. “So does that mean you like, came here and applied for citizenship and got it or–or were you like born here, and then moved to England. Or, even, you got it through marriage? Are you married? Like how does this work?”

“I’m not going to tell you all the details of my life.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Scar says. 

“It’s fine.”

“Hm,” Scar says. “You know, it’s interesting that I met you, almost like a coincidence, right? I remember hearing about another British guy in the park last summer–a tragedy, I tell you. I heard the rangers still haven’t–”

Grian’s blood instantly runs cold at the mention, and the warm mug in his hands isn’t doing enough to pull the heat back into his body. For a moment he wants to dash the mug onto the ground dozens of feet below, and cut his hands on the ceramic when he goes to pick up the shattered remains–leave no trace–on the forest floor, dripping blood onto the leaves.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he flicks the radio off with shaking hands, cutting Scar off mid-sentence, and stalks back into the cabin.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian’s sitting on a rock next to a lake. The sun is slanted now, casting golden orange rays across the water. The air is crisp and, although Grian hasn’t touched it, he knows the water is cold. It’s snowmelt-fed, afterall. 

He’d turned on his radio again an hour or two after he turned it off earlier, once he’d recovered enough to have a normal conversation. Scar had been worried, but he’d accepted Grian’s excuse that he’d left some water boiling on the stove and needed to attend to it immediately. He hadn’t known Grian long enough to see through his excuses yet, unlike Grian’s old supervisor. 

Scar had been quiet the rest of the afternoon, though, as soon as Grian told him that he was going out to explore. Grian appreciates the peace. 

He pulls a map out of his bag to study it. It’s not the map he was given of his lookout area when he started. No, this one is worn on the edges from countless foldings and unfoldings. It’s not so much a map as it is several maps–it’s several detailed topo maps taped together into a square. 

In one map, the Two Forks lookout is circled in red marker. Grian did that a few weeks ago, when he’d learned which lookout he was assigned to. It’s a beacon on the page, his new base of operations for the next few months. And it couldn’t be in a better location. 

The rest of the map is marked-up too. There’s highlighter along some trails, penciled in areas of interest, and shaded areas. They’re search areas. It’s not the first time Grian has been here. 

He examines the maps, cross referencing his with the topo map he was given as a lookout. The Two Forks domain covers much of the locations that Mumbo’s search did last year, but more. There's still a lot of blank space on the maps, especially in areas that were inaccessible by trail. Just because it was off-trail doesn’t mean Mumbo never went there for some reason. 

Grian takes a pencil out of his bag and begins to mark up the map once again. It’s something he’s done before, and there’s spots on the map where his eraser has rubbed off part of the ink. He pours over the contours, thinking, this valley has shelter from the wind, or there’s a source of water here.

When he’s finished he stares at the page for a long moment, and then back out at the lake in front of him. The shadows are even longer now. On the other side of the lake, the ground is cast in shadow already, with the sun disappearing early behind a mountain. 

Did Mumbo enjoy these views, too? Was he here?

Grian would ask him when he found him.

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

[cannedcrow]

Hermit's Hold - Scarian/Hermitcraft Gold Rush AU - Part IV

A/N: Been a while! I recently got the zest to write again and finally found the inspiration to continue this story. I'm very excited about continuing my various fics (Arbitrary Darkness and Flower Frost) so if anyone's still interested, stay tuned! This one might get spicy soon ;)

Read on AO3!

~ Fic inspired by @gritties. Please reblog if you enjoy! <3 ~

When Grian awoke, it was to a headache and an offensive sunbeam shining on his face. He rolled over groggily, propping himself up on one elbow and observing his surroundings.

He, Etho, Bdubs and Scar had eventually gone to sleep in the small apartment that Bdubs and Etho inhabited above the bar. They'd insisted their guests take the beds, and Bdubs was still snoring on the floor next to the bed, half-blanketed by his mossy cape. Etho was slumped over a small table, flanked by his tumbler and the whiskey bottle, which, he noted, was significantly less full than it'd been when Grian had gone to sleep. Scar and Doc had vanished, leaving only disturbed blankets as evidence of their presence. With a final glance at Bdubs and Etho - he decided to let them sleep - he dressed and hurried downstairs.

He found Scar and Doc in the stables, leant on the divider and talking in severe undertones. They looked up when Grian entered, Doc's face a mask of anger. He hadn't yet seen Doc be anything but pleasant, and he hoped he was never the recipient of the scowl that twisted Doc's already frightening face.

"The horses are gone," Scar declared flatly. He showed no signs of the previous night's drinks and Grian immediately felt aware of his own scruffy hair and rumpled clothes.

"Gone? Elderberry?" Grian exclaimed in panic, "But-"

Doc's gaze lingered on Grian for a moment before he looked away.

"Whoever took them is new in town I think. Or they are very foolish," he growled, a mirthless smile twisting his face.

"We'll find them," Scar comforted Grian, his reassuring smile not hiding the stern anger in his eyes, and Grian wasn't sure whether he meant the horses or the thief. Somehow, he couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the perpetrator.

Scar and Doc disappeared, bidding farewell to Etho & Bdubs before reassuring Grian that they didn't need his assistance. Etho shook his head as he helped Grian saddle a rented mule.

He inquired, but all Etho said was "What a fool."

Scar was gone most of that day and the next. And the next.

Grian continued work on the shop, trying not to worry about their fate. If anyone can handle themselves, it's those two, he reassured himself.

He joined a group of other camp members on the second day for lunch and was welcomed with open arms. The three were detonators, as evidenced by their charred clothing and soot-smudged faces. He recognised one as the pianist at the bar, a slight, blond-haired man with warm red eyes and a perpetual fanged grin. He announced himself as Tango, and introduced his companions - Mumbo, whom he took an immediate liking to, was another English man, tall and slim with an impressive black moustache and bizarrely well-groomed appearance, and Impulse, a stocky, broad-chested man with a friendly face and burn scars riddling his arms.

Impulse tossed a handful of redstone into the campfire Grian was starting and it immediately blazed red and grew in size. Tango laughed and poked at the eggs in their skillet. Impulse smiled too. "Old redstoner's trick, that," he informed, accepting a plate from Tango. Mumbo passed one to Grian and winced, earning chuckles from the other two as he pulled up his sleeve and rubbed his bandaged arm.

"What happened?" Grian inquired, looking at Mumbo's annoyed expression.

"I uh- misstepped while we were excavating today," the man replied begrudgingly.

"Poor guy didn't time his pulses quite right and got blasted," Tango snickered, as though this explained everything.

"I see," Grian said, not seeing.

"Redstone is tricky," Impulse helped, "That's why only the pros do it, right Mumbo?"

Mumbo scowled.

The three of them amused themselves by telling Grian horror stories of their experiences in detonation and showed off various scars, evidently enjoying his horrified expression. One of their number, it transpired, was absent - a maniacal man called Zedaph who it seemed had been experimenting with using creepers for controlled demolitions (this idea utterly horrified Grian) and was currently recovering after losing a few fingers.

As they finished their meal, he nonchalantly ventured, "Does Scar often disappear for days at a time?"

"Oh, yeah," Impulse said, wiping his mouth on his arm, "Funny guy, him. Great company though, and he looks after his own well enough."

"They're businessmen through and through, those two," Mumbo continued, "No clue what they get up to. Business stuff. What happened that's got you wondering?"

Grian recounted the other day, and the three looked flabbergasted.

"They stole your horses?"

"Well, it can't be too uncommon around here, right?" Grian replied, bemused at their shock.

"Well sure, but not from them. Fool to cross those two, if ya ask me," Impulse said, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't try it," Tango agreed with a dark chuckle.

Grian joined the trio for meals several more times, happy for their warm, comfortable company. They were always laughing and telling stories, sharing their food and even letting him taste their preferred drink - a strong, deep red whiskey that tasted like sharp fire which made him cough and was apparently infused with redstone powder.

When Scar did return, it was late into the night. Half asleep, Grian heard the thud of hooves and jingling of tack before the cabin door creaked open. Jellie leapt lightly off the bed and trotted up to him with a meow of greeting, and Grian watched through cracked eyelids as Scar stripped off a stained shirt and discarded it. The fiery glow of the hearth settled on a hard-muscled chest and the strong features of Scar, handsome despite the patchwork of dirt and scars marring his unshaven face. He looked exhausted but satisfied. He withdrew a flask and picked up Jellie, crooning to her softly as Grian let himself fall asleep again, feathers prickling with the sensation that somehow he were being examined.

When Grian awoke, Scar was already up and brewing coffee. He grinned at Grian with that familiar lopsided smile, surrounded by a white beard of shaving foam. "Morning, buddy! how've ya been?"

Grian yawned and stretched, the last night mostly forgotten.

"You're back! I was getting worried," he replied, returning the smile and accepting a cup of coffee, "That beard suits you by the way."

"Back and better than ever. And I've got your friend back," Scar said breezily, leading him outside, to where Elderberry was tied.

She whinnied a greeting and Grian buried his face in her warm neck.

"Thank you," he breathed, "What happened?"

Scar waved his hand as though the question was absurd, "We played detectives, found the thief and got em back."

"Just like that eh?"

"Well, we had to rough him up a little to make a point," Scar grinned at his reflection as he shaved, and Grian decided not to press the issue.

Normalcy resumed again in the camp, and Grian fell into the comfortable rhythm of work again. The store was gaining shape steadily, and they began frequenting town more often to transport inventory in readiness to stock. As a side project, he began to expand Lynxholding, adding a few feet to the large room to give space for himself and Scar, as he'd wholly committed to his home there. They frequently enjoyed the company of the demolitions crew when they came down the mountain, and Zedaph returned, another English man - to Grian's delight - with windswept blond hair and a badly singed white coat, who proudly showed off a bandaged hand with too few fingers.

A few weeks passed in peace before anything of interest happened. Grian had been preparing to make a midday meal when he spotted a crowd of miners near the river, huddled around a strange man whom it appeared had come down the mountain. He was gaunt and thin, clothes tattered, his blond hair touselled and plastered to his head by sweat, and his small yellow wings were dull, one held close to his body and stiff with dried blood and mud. His brown eyes were haunted and empty, one marred by a nasty bruise.

The miners flooded him with questions but he didn't say a word, only staring blankly at the ground, shrinking as though he hoped to sink into the ground. The crowd parted as Scar arrived, evidently fetched by one of the miners. He handed the man a waterskin and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Come on my friend, let's get you patched up," he soothed. The man followed dutifully as Scar led him away gently, addressing the others as he went, "And you fellas clear off. I'll look after our friend."

Grian returned to his meal, considering the encounter. He reflected on Scar's oddly gentle and comforting nature, stark relative to his intimidating person. The blond man had seemed so shaken and diminutive, utterly lost. What on earth had happened to him? Had he been separated from a hunting party and set on by Indians? Perhaps he'd run into a bear - God knows how he'd gotten away. People didn't often travel up Donner Pass - those mountains were treacherous and cruel, utterly unfazed by human exploration. He suddenly recalled Etho's story and shuddered.

In the evening he returned to their cabin to find Scar watching over the man as he slept fitfully in the bed.

"Evening. How's he doing? Has he even spoken?"

"He's not talking. God knows what's shaken him up so badly," Scar sighed, "I'm gonna try an' take him up to town tomorrow to see a real doctor. Think you can stay with Tango and them for the night? They came down a few hours ago."

"Oh - of course," Grian agreed, "Do - do you know him? You seem really worried."

"No, not at all. We have to look after each other though. It's a rough place. You can't get along without help," He scratched Jellie's chin and chuckled, "Speaking of which, sorry to have to kick you out buddy."

Grian gathered his things to leave, "No worries mate - I'll see you then. Wake me if anything changes, alright?"

Scar nodded, "Sleep well!"

Grian looked back as he left, and as the door swung closed, he frowned at seeing Scar watch the sleeping man, his face cold and expressionless.

The mysterious man died in the night, evidently succumbing to his injuries. They'd never even learnt his name, and they buried him shortly outside camp. Scar was rather reserved as they headed out to town accompanied by the demolitions crew. Grian assumed he was grieving over being unable to save the stranger, and the ride passed mostly in silence.

Upon entering the familiar, comforting cool of Easy E's however, their number perked up immediately. The wrecking crew split off to see some familiar faces while Scar and Grian found Doc at the bar talking to Ren, whose ears pricked as he greeted them with his cheerful, wolfish grin.

"Hey there my guys!" He slapped Scar on the back and presented a clawed hand to Grian, "I don't think we've met. I'm Ren!"

"Grian. I'm shocked we've not had a chance to meet yet seeing you're a pal of these two,"

"I've been doggedly ignoring you," Ren replied, roaring with laughter at his own joke as Doc shook his head.

"My god, that was terrible," he smiled as Scar laughed.

Doc ordered a round of drinks for their party, and Etho obligingly poured a stream of Canadian whiskey along their row of glasses.

"So, how's our shop coming?" He asked Grian, who enthusiastically reported the progress to a delighted Doc.

"Oh! That reminds me, I've been meaning to see Joe about some materials - we'll need canvas and furs for the shop - and of course, to give you something better to sleep on G," Scar nudged Grian jovially.

"Think he's here," Ren replied, looking around before hollering, "Hey - Joe!"

The man who approached sported a thick moustache and a beautiful beaverskin hat, and cordially shook hands with the three in turn.

"Howdy!" He waved away Doc's offer of a drink, "Nah, Tennessee whiskey is the only kind to drink," He had a surprisingly gentle voice with a slight Southern accent.

Etho leant on the bar to listen in with a nod to Joe.

Scar animatedly talked to Joe about various pelts and pricing as Grian sipped his drink, half listening. They seemed to reach a conclusion, and Grian was suddenly struck by a realisation.

"You were the trapper who went up on Donner Pass with Etho, right?" He blurted.

Joe raised his eyebrows, glancing at Etho before returning his gaze to Grian, "Good god, that affair. Didn't think Etho talked about it much. I certainly don't."

Grian flushed with embarrassment at his faux pas and immediately ventured, "Sorry to spring on you like that - Etho told us weeks back and I just realised he mentioned you."

Etho's mask twitched with what looked like an apologetic smile, "Came up in conversation so I thought I should tell them,"

"Well, nothing wrong with that. Nasty business though ... I do my best not to think of it myself."

"You believe it then? The wendigoo?" Scar interjected with interest, evidently listening.

"Wendigo," Etho corrected, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't see it, but I've been trapping a long time from Canada through to California, and I've never heard a beast make the sounds we heard that night," Joe said somberly, and paused before continuing, "... and I never heard a voice like that from any man. I didn't need to see anything to know every one of us was watched by God to have been able to get down that mountain. Etho's no liar, whatever else he may be."

"You ... you heard it then," Etho said quietly, eyes on the bar.

"Heard that thing call Antonio through the trees? A hunter's instinct is well tuned to sounds in the forest. I'll never forget the things I heard."

The two men seemed in their own world at that moment, and none of their party interrupted.

Joe sipped his drink and continued, "That Indian fella guiding us - you saw how he was. He knew exactly what was going on and knew to scarper. Gotta trust the Natives, they've lived here longer'n any of us and anyone would be a fool to disregard them," He shook his head, "I've never been near the pass since."

They're not joking about this, Grian realised suddenly, brow furrowing.

"Well," Doc chuckled, breaking the tension, "I never needed another excuse not to wander around these mountains.”

The group laughed, and Joe smiled. Tango wandered over just then and greeted everyone enthusiastically, before nonchalantly bringing up the strange man in camp.

"Stranger, eh?" Ren asked curiously, "What, some new prospector?"

"Far from it," Tango informed, "Some guy none of us had ever seen comes stumbling down the mountain into camp. Could've been dead already, the look of him. Didn't say a word to any of us and died that night. Pretty tragic."

Doc raised an eyebrow and glanced at Scar, who shrugged, "I tried my best to help the guy and we were gonna bring him into town the next day for a real doctor. Guess he was just too injured."

Scar swirled his glass, looking more annoyed than anything.

"Shame," Doc said, tapping his glass for a refill.

"What do you reckon happened to him?" Ren asked.

"Who knows," Doc replied unconcernedly, "Could have been anything. Wandered off drunk and got himself mauled by a bear most like. It happens more than you would think."

Tango frowned. "Honestly, looked like he'd been in a bar fight more than anything - those bruises? How'd he end up going anyway?"

"Just snuffed it that night," Scar replied plainly, "Shock? Dunno. He went to sleep and didn't wake up."

Scar didn't seem interested in continuing the conversation. The topic shifted as Tango took the opportunity to launch into a story about Zedaph's latest psychotic experiment, insisting they had to hear it from the man himself and leading them to the table the other detonators sat at.

Scar and Doc eventually retreated to the bar to get another drink, and Scar leant casually against the smooth wood as Doc spoke with Etho.

When Grian excused himself to get his own, he heard the tail of their conversation.

"-shouldn't have happened," Doc told Scar seriously.

Scar shrugged, "I took care of it as best I could," and looked up, "Hey G! Whatcha getting?"

"Gin, I guess. Taste of home yeah?"

"Last one I reckon, we don't want our horses stolen again." Scar laughed, winking.

[askhermesgrian]

Welcome to CAMP HERMITCRAFT! (Text Adventure Event) 04

(STARTING POST , PREVIOUS POST , POLL AT THE END!)

Art by @ahllohehn Writing by @askhermesgrian (asst. @ahllohehn)

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

LAST POLL RESULTS

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Nothing good will come out of putting more attention to yourself, you thought. Grian would probably prefer that you didn't put attention to yourself either.

You were on alert about the presence inside the house and quickly ducked under the window as you made your way to your bickering companions, panickedly waving your arms around to signal them to stop yelling at each other.

"There's people inside the house!" you whisper-yelled, causing both Grian and Scar to pause and hold in their breaths.

"Ah, well, suppose we shouldn't expect Keralis and X to be anywhere else," Scar whispered back with a giggle, "Good call." (+1 rep)

You all glance over at the Big House one more time before Grian holds on the handles of Scar's wheelchair and starts scurrying away from the building, "Yeah, let's not... do this little game anymore. The sooner we get to the infirmary the better."

You nodded in shame and follow after them with an equally hasty pace.

(!) Missed Keralis' and Xisuma's 1st Connection Branch.

With the mishap surrounding your powers and the short-lived game Grian set upon you, your group find their way to the infirmary. A building that looked wider than it is taller. It was a mix between broken and comfy looking, especially with the arrows stuck all over the roof and the one that was barely holding up the sign.

Judging with the way that neither Scar nor Grian commented or reacted to it, you assume that the arrows were purposefully put there for decoration... You hope.

"Welcome to my second home!" Scar joked as he was pushed up the ramp to enter.

Scar and Grian looked more at ease when further away from the Big House, but as soon as you entered inside the actual infirmary, your relaxed states were cut short by a cough.

All you slowly turn your heads to look at where the noise came from with dread on your expressions, especially evident on Grian's and Scar's face while you were mostly left confused at the sight of another person.

"Well, if it ain't our two little troublemakers!"

"And.. oh! Another victim of yours?"

You were met with the sight of a tall and fairly muscular man. By first impression, you thought he was a rockstar from the 90s, but maybe that was because of how he styled himself with the addition of the long hair.

You could've sworn he was physically glowing. You had to rub your eyes to make sure you weren't imagining it, but the three continued to converse amidst your personal confusion.

Scar was sheepishly trying to excuse Grian and himself, "We haven't done anything wrong!" he defended, "I mean, I haven't done anything wrong. Grian howeve--" he was willing to add more, but one glare from his partner in crime had him shutting up with a sheepish smile.

It was then Grian's turn to defend himself, "I haven't done anything! Skizz, if I were to have done anything, wouldn't there be more patients by now?"

'Skizz' tried to look serious, but the guy still couldn't help but break out into giggles, "Sure, but it's more concerning to see that there even is one in the first place," he gestured to you, making you wonder just how many times Grian and Scar had escorted their 'victims', "And you just about missed Doc too."

(!) Missed Doc's 1st Connection Branch.

Scar kept quiet in fear for his safety as Grian grumbled under his breath for even more excuses. Seeing as neither of the two were willing to actually go ahead and explain anything, Skizz turned to you.

"So, what's up, lil' fella? What'cha in for?"

You thought that phrase was something to be used in another context, but you didn't speak up to correct him.

"I got... a bump on my head," you explained vaguely, wondering just how much you could reveal without getting Grian in trouble. Skizz seemed to sense that there's more to that statement and pressed further.

"Uh huh, anything else?"

You glanced at Grian, who seemed to silently beg you to come up with an excuse, but he had already faced away from you before you could confirm. Whatever you did, he doesn't seem to trust that you'd actually make up an excuse to save him so he was hunched over like he was preparing to be scolded.

"No, nothing else."

When you answered that, Skizz and Grian looked over to scrutinize your expression, looking for a secret or reason you're hiding, with Grian mostly looking over at you weirdly yet gratefully. When you kept a steady expression and didn't speak any more than that, you breathed a sigh of relief as Skizz decided to not ask further.

"Well, I'm no good at checking the medical stuff to see if you do have anything else other than a bump on the head," he said while beckoning you over to one of the infirmary beds behind a curtain, urging you to sit down, "So I'll do some basic healing and we'll see if I can call Doc back over to check on the rest."

"You troublemakers, on the other hand, will have to wait outside. Don't forget how you confetti bombed the infirmary last time," Grian seemed alarmed at that and he immediately tried to follow after you, only to be stopped by Skizz.

The boy in the red cardigan forced a cheery smile, "They need me for emotional support!"

"You already gave them a bump on the head, what other support would they need from you?" Skizz said lightheartedly, but it didn't ease up Grian's expression.

You were alerted at how eager Grian was to cling onto you now. But then again, you'd probably want to stick to your problem too after you possibly lost a supposed important magic thing from dropping it on their head. Who knows if there's actual side effects other than a bump on the head? If this camp had actual good doctors, Grian probably wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

There was still the amnesia and the weird powers. Is that information something you should be protective of?

You fidgeted on the spot as stubborn Grian had to be whisked away by an equally stubborn Skizz. Scar looked back at you and at the pair in hesitation before approaching you, taking your hand and quickly forcing a bird whistle into your hands.

You looked up at him inquiringly, silently wondering if this was a silent threat or some sort of metaphor. Scar gave you a sheepish smile, "I'm gonna be honest. That magic of yours isn't normal."

You blinked confusingly. So was he just acting amazed by you to make you panic less? "But... you said nothing is exactly normal here?"

"By mortal standards, nothing is normal here," Scar sounded much more serious than he had been for the past few minutes, "By the normal standards here, you're the.. abnork-- mm.. abnomnality," well, there goes the serious talk.

"What I mean to say is- whatever wrong happens, you'll have to prepare for it! Seeing as whatever was in the box had seeped into little mortal you," he tapped on the bird whistle you had in your hands, "This quest only remained in Grian's and Xisuma's hands so they know the most about it. But since me and lil' birdie over there have ac- accumerlated distrust with the infirmary volunteers, Grian can't control anything that'll happen here from now on."

Scar mimicked a bird's call horribly, "Use the whistle if something goes wrong. Grian usually answers to it. I do too. Mumbo would as well, but...." he trailed off and went quiet when he realized you wouldn't exactly know who he was talking about. (+1 Grian Connection, +1 Scar Connection)

"Well, just know that it's a thing we have as friends to alert for danger. You gotta whistle immediately so we could control the problem if your.. 'magic' goes wrong."

You examined the bird whistle nervously, "Is something meant to go wrong?"

"Well, it was called Pandora's box for a reason!"

Scar said that so joyfully you wondered if he realized just how terrifying that statement is. Not that either of you get to speak on it as Grian's squawking was getting louder outside.

"We'll be around, no worries!" Scar patted you on the shoulder one last time before wheeling himself away, leaving you to yourself for once ever since you woke up.

... But even so, it felt as if you're truly not alone.

Keeping Scar's comments in mind, you feel the urge to.. move. Do something. Something.

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PLAYER STATUS Watchers' notes: This is where you can all check your status as one collective player. Please pay attention.

General Status: Possible amnesia. Numbness. (!) The feeling of being watched is stronger.

Reputation Status: 9/10 (+1 from Scar) - You can only currently call; Scar and Grian.

Current Run Notes: - (!) You unlocked Scar and Grian's connection branches. Calling for help may be useful sometime, so don't lose the bird whistle. - (!) Skizz seems to have no faith in your companions. Just how often do other people end up in the infirmary because of them? - ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ||'∷ᒷ ꖎᔑ⚍⊣⍑╎リ⊣

[i-3at-s0ap]

Hey! Welcome to my blog!

[plain text: Hey! Welcome to my blog!]

Info below the cut :3

He/they 🏳️‍⚧️

Bisexual, possibly demiromantic

I'm not going to share my real name here but people call me Rat so that's my name now lmao. you can also call me Soap.

I mostly post fanart, and I try my best to make all of them have an image ID, please tell me if I've forgotten :)

Drawing requests are OPEN right now, and I will...

Do ✅

- fanart for fandoms I'm in

- OCs (I'll need a reference pic)

Not do ❌

- ships for fandoms I'm in

- furries (I love y'all, the thing is I'm shit at drawing animals and furries sorry. I'm working on it lol)

- severe body horror

- NSFW (sex, kinks, you get the idea)

- Harry potter shit (fuck JKR)

- incest/large age gap/step sibling ships/pedophilia

I reserve the right to decide whether or not I draw something.

This blog has like no tagging system but here are the few I do have

#I-eat-art -> my art

#look at my suicide posting boy -> where I talk about my mental health, usually not super sensitively, feel free to block this tag if that kinda stuff upsets you /gen

#Rat in situations -> small drawings I make about my life, mostly goofy stuff

#fish woman -> the tag I use for my OC named Morwenna (she is indeed a fish woman)

If there are any trigger/content warning worthy things in my art/posts I will tag them as such, if you feel like there is a warning missing please tell me!

Avatar of the Hunt 🐺

Fandoms:

The Magnus archives 📼 👁️

Dungeons and daddies 🎲

Hermitcraft ⛏️📺

Dungeon Meshi 😋🍲

(and kinda Camp Here and There but not really pls don't follow me if you are expecting CHTH stuff lol)

DNI:

Transandrophobes

Swifties

Racists

Fatphobes

anti-Semites

Homophobes

Transphobes

Ableists

TERFs

Zionists

Transids

Detrans/misgendering kink blogs

Pedophiles

People who think "narcissistic abuse" is real

Bigots

Pro eating disorder/thinspo blogs

You get the idea

[veritate-lol]

Hello! It's been a bit and I now have a working schedule for everything! If you have something you want to request please do! :D

[ahllohehn]

HERMITS AND THE OLYMPIANS MASTERPOST (07/31/2024)

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Hermits and The Olympians/Emperors of Olympus is a Hermitcraft/Empires SMP based Percy Jackson AU based off my art and headcanons!

(Please do not use the tags for other PJO AUs as I use them to specifically label what's based off mine.)

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Seperated by art/doodles, headcanons/discussion, fanfics:

# 1 MUMBO PORTRAIT # 2 GRIAN, PEARL, SCAR & MUMBO ART # 3 HaTO FAN CREATION GUIDELINES # 4 GEM, CLEO, DOC PORTRAITS # 5 ETHO & BDUBS THANK YOU CARD # 6 STRESSMONSTER THANK YOU CARD # 7 CAMP EMPIRES FIRST APPEARANCE; BAD BOYS DOODLE # 8 OUTDATED CAMPERS GODLY PARENT SUMMARY # 9 CHIBI MUMBO THANK YOU CARD # 10 GRIAN CLOSE UP # 10.5 WATCHERS CAMEO??? # 11 BDUBS & SCAR; DEMETER CABIN'S HONORARY CAMPER # 12 RENDOG PORTRAIT # 13 MUMSCARIAN / RE: AU SHIPS # 14 IS THERE A CANON PLOT? Answer: I stick with what is canon to me, but I do not force others to follow so. As I am too lazy to do an actual plot. # 15 CHIBI STRESS & MUMBO # 16 BDUBS..? # 17 ETHO PORTRAIT / 1ST AU FICLET # 18 I JUST THINK THEATER KID ARES KID REN IS FUNNY # 19 JOEL AND LIZZIE; SOULMATES IN EVERY UNIVERSE # 20 ORACLE GEM...? # 21 oh snappers! (LOW QUALITY ETHO DOODLE) # 22 AT THIS POINT, DIONYSUS, ARES, AND APOLLO SHOULD FIGHT TO THE DEATH TO SEE WHO GETS CUSTODY OF REN # 23 SKIZZ & IMPULSE PORTRAITS / HEADCANONS # 24 ZEDAPH PORTRAIT

# 25 Camp Oracle’s Journal; Hermits and The Olympians # 26 GRIAN - THE DEATHLY ACTIVITIES MANAGER # 27 ISKALL & TANGO PORTRAITS # 28 KERALIS & XISUMA'S PERSONALLY MADE CAMP PIN # 29 I REALLY LIKE MAKING FUN OF REN /AFFE # 30 I ALSO REALLY LIKE INCLUDING MARTYN INTO THE MIX /AFFE

# 31 TREEBARK ARE MY BOYFAILURES # 32 RENDERED CAMP LOGOS (PNGS IN DISCORD SERVER) # 33 SHELBY & SCOTT PORTRAITS # 34 ETHUBS MY BELOVEDS :) # 35 INTRODUCING: GIGGS # 36 RE: CAMP EMPIRES AND CAMP HERMITCRAFT DOUBLES # 37 LET OLD MEN BOND LIKE OLD MEN (ETHO & TANGO) # 38 OFFICIAL HaTO DISCORD SERVER ANNOUNCEMENT # 39 MYTHICALSAUSAGE PORTRAIT # 40 XISUMA PORTRAIT # 41 HaTO FIRST COMIC SHITPOST # 42 FALSE, KERALIS, & BEEF PORTRAITS # 43 WELS & HYPNO PORTRAITS # 44 MUMSCARIAN FIRST MEETING DOODLE # 45 WHY IS WELS AN ATHENA KID? # 46 HOW IS GEM THE ORACLE # 47 HaTO SECOND COMIC SHITPOST (PRIDE MONTH) # 48 DESERT DUO ANIMATIC; INSPIRED BY BEAN'S TRAITOR SCAR FIC

# 49 MARTYN PORTRAIT / HEADCANONS # 50 IF SCAR WERE TO BE APHRODITE'S.... # 51 REN VS JARS # 52 LIZZIE PORTRAIT # 53 HaTO SCAR & GEM EMOTES # 54 HaTO CHIBIS BOUQUET DOODLE # 55 GRIAN AND HIS SON # 56 KATHERINE ELIZABETH PORTRAIT # 57 MUMSCARIAN MATCHING ICONS FOR PRIDE # 58 HOW ARE YEAR ROUNDERS GETTING EDUCATION? # 59 SHINY DUO MATCHING ICONS # 60 AROACE PEARL (PRIDE MONTH) # 61 BISEXUAL CLEO (PRIDE MONTH) # 62 CAMP CUDDLE SESSIONS # 63 TREEBARK COMEBACK # 64 When Does a Man Become a Monster?; Hermits and The Olympians

# 65 BOAT BOYS MATCHING ICONS # 66 WHAT DOIN'? CAMP HERMITCRAFT EDITION # 67 "I'M A CHILD OF DIVORCE" GESTURES TO ETHUBS # 68 MORE ETHUBS HEADCANONS CUS IM GAY AND SO ARE THEY # 69 DO NOT ANGER THE NON-ZOMBIE WOMAN, MR. ETHO # 70 NATURE WIVES # 71 I COMPLAIN ABOUT THE HEPHAESTUS CABIN'S ABILITIES # 72 TREEBARK MATCHING ICONS # 73 OLI PORTRAIT & HEADCANONS # 74 IT'S NOT ME IF THERE'S NO ETHUBS # 75 WELCOME TO HERMITCRAFT: GRIAN TEXT ADVENTURE # 76 GEM'S ORACLE CAVE TOUR

#77 THE BOYS (+ GEM) GO SHOPPING FOR SUITS #78 PEARL CHARACTER CARD #79 Camper Files; Hermits and The Olympians #80 STRESS PORTRAIT #81 CUBFAN PORTRAIT #82 FWHIP PORTRAIT

#83 PIXLRIFFS PORTRAIT #84 RANCHERS #85 WHY DO I HAVE SO MUCH TREEBARK IN MY INBOX? #86 IDK HOW SAD I'M SUPPOSED TO MAKE SCOTT #87 LONG TIME, NO NATURE WIVES? #88 AREN'T WE ALL A LITTLE SILLY FOR GRIAN SOMETIMES? #89 I HOPE YOU ALL KNOW I JUST BE SAYING ANYTHING ATP

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[hatopixlriffs]

This week, on CHC:

Kid's everywhere!!! And a... fashion show?

Welcome to the CHC recap, my name is Pixlriffs, our writer is ZloyXP, our physical copies printed by Lyarrah. It seems the past week has been full of magical shenanigans as this last recap was delayed by three days! But here it is, so without further ado:

Let's take a look at all the events and mishaps that occurred on Camp Hermitcraft, this week!

Starting with @inthelittlelore, who managed to convince Xisuma to let him stay at Camp Hermitcraft with @hatorendiggitydog for the time being. The two seem to have gotten increasingly close, and who knows where their relationship will go from here!

A big group of campers from both Camp Empires and Camp Hermitcraft recently went suit shopping! @camphermithater, @boatboynr1, @askhermesgrian, @thatgayflowerboy, @asktheshreeper, @boatboynr2, @askhatoskizz, and @gem-the-oracle all picked out amazing suits, which may or may not have sparked a fashion show, which we'll get into later.

On the other side, we have @undead-daughter-of-hebe, who managed to turn at least four campers into kids! Poor @asktangoftek, @lovemushroomsandflowers, @askhatokeralis, and even Cleo herself all ended up as children! Both Joel and @fishylovexo had bad potion run-ins as well, with Lizzie turning into a fish!

@askhatoxisuma came back from doing paperwork to this chaos, and immediately decided to go to bed.

Oh yeah, and @sungod7-fuckyoupearl somehow turned @shutupapolloplease into a mortal! @pearl-likes-hunting spent the better half of the week trying to restore her lady to her immortal form.

Luckily, Cleo found a cure for the kid-curse, and managed to turn most everyone back into teens/young adults! But not before a failed attempt made Tango two inches tall.

@erempulse spent the week trying to help Skizz figure out if he likes men, which did result in Skizz coming out as Bi-ace! Congrats! After finding a suit and his identity, Skizz ended up on babysitting duty, managing to corral the remaining kid-cured campers out of the woods and to safety with some help from Tango. Thanks Skizz and Tango!

On the other hand, after suit shopping and a brief run-in with Jimmy, asking for funds for a Stanley, Grian enjoyed a relaxing week with his boyfriends, @askscarpjo and @spoonsandmustaches. He did joke about putting Bdubs in a wedding dress, but I have no reports about the aftermath quite yet.

Finally, just about all the campers decided to go dress shopping! You can find their picks on their blogs! @ask-cursed-princess offered her services for adjustments and and accessories, and as far as we know, everyone is still preparing for the main event: a fashion show! Scott did ban all immortals, including @thesmartone, but that's a story for another day.

AND that's about it for this weeks recap, our writer is ZloyXP, and my name is Pixlriff, physical copies printed by Lyarrah. Don't forget to leave a like while you're here, and follow so you don't miss future recaps. Thanks for reading, and we'll see you next week.