#and Hermitcraft still has my heart in a choke hold

[crazysorafangirl]

Bird app has fallen, im home brothers and sisters

I missed yall

[eyelessfog]

“Hey, Falsie, let’s play a game.”

False pauses halfway through flipping to the next page in her file. She glances over at her twin, sitting lazily with her arms through the bars of her cell.

False closes the file and sets it on the lab desk and glances over at her lab aid. She nods at the door, and the lab aid nods back, scurrying out.

“What sort of game?” False asks, suspicious.

Her twin cocks her head to the side, blinking innocently. “Oh,” she says. “You know. Never have I ever.”

False walks over and sits on the other side of the bars from her twin. “Symmetry…”

“Oooh,” Symmetry gasps dryly, rolling her eyes. “My name! Whatever will I do?”

“You’re not the type to want to play a game like Never have I ever,” False says. “What’s with the change of heart?”

“Well, there’s not a lot else to do in here,” Symmetry says. “When I get out of here, I’ll go back to liking the fun games.”

False frowns. “You aren’t-“

Symmetry glares up at her. “Yes I am. You’ll see that you were wrong about me sooner or later.”

A moment. “Right.” False sighs. “Right. Let’s play.”

Symmetry grins and leans back, holding a hand up.

False watches, then slowly raises her own hand. "Five tries?"

"Oh, maybe we'll make it ten later. I don't know how much fun it'll be. Only way to find out is to play! You go first." Symmetry's grin is unnerving.

"Okay..." False says slowly. "Never have I ever..." She looks over the room they're in. "Eaten dye."

Symmetry balks. "Why do you remember that?" she asks, curling her thumb in.

False laughs. "How could I forget? It was a really funny scene to walk into."

Symmetry pulls a face. "I meant it, you know! It was an accident! I wasn't paying attention!"

"Oh, I'm sure," False agrees, laughter in her chest. "It's still a bit of an embarrassing thing to get caught doing. I would never."

"You are a jerk and a menace and the worst sister anyone could ever ask for," Symmetry huffs. "My turn now." She turns her nose up, lip curled, then speaks. "Never have I ever killed one of my friends."

False blinks. "What?"

"Never have I ever killed one of my friends!" Symmetry repeats, curling in her index finger and tilting her head expectantly.

False feels a chill down her spine. "That's... This isn't how you play the game," she says. "It's something you haven't done, but you think the other person has."

"Oh," Symmetry says, mock innocent. "Really? Well, you know me. This isn't my kinda game, is it? Don't mind if I make a couple mistakes."

False swallows. "Right."

"Right!" Symmetry agrees, looking pointedly at False's hand. False curls her thumb in.

"My- my turn. Um. Never have I ever... left the back of a build for someone else to do?"

"Mm, I have done that," Symmetry agrees mildly. "Never have I ever blown up someone else's things." She drops two fingers so that only her pinky is left.

"Symmetry."

"False!"

False stands, jaw clenched and eyes piercing. "Of course you didn't want to just play a game. I knew it. I knew it!"

"Oh, oh, False, I'm sorry!" Symmetry gasps, mouth turned in a pout that keeps twitching into a smile. "Come on! You're so close to winning! And I'll even say one that I haven't done! I'll play properly! I mean it!"

False stands there, chest heaving, but obediently raises her hand again, three fingers kept up.

"Thank you, False," Symmetry says, her voice sounding strangely honest. "Never have I ever fought a war against any of the other Hermits."

False chokes.

Symmetry's pinky doesn't go down, which is just as it's supposed to be, because she really hasn't. In all the wars that Hermitcraft has gone through, Symmetry never fought. It was always False.

It was always False.

False balls her hands into a fist and storms out of the room, Symmetry watching her go.

"Uhhh," Symmetry says, staring at her pinky. "Never has she ever... accidentally killed herself while renaming a sword, probably." She closes her whole hand into a fist and smiles. "Okay! False wins! Symmetry loses!"

Symmetry sighs and rests her arms on the bars of her cell.

"Or, Symmetry loses the game, and False loses her mind. What a twist!"

The door to the room her cage is in opens, slowly, hesitantly. In steps the lab aid from before, making eye contact with her.

"You got the stuff?" Symmetry asks, opening a hand and beckoning him over. "Remember, my fee is two diamonds. You can keep whatever else you got."

The lab hand nods, dropping two diamonds into her outstretched hand. "Thank you, Symmetry."

Symmetry grins. "Thank you too. Now, go, before she figures out someone's conspiring with the enemy." She winks at him, and he nods quickly, then rushes out.

Symmetry turns to the back of her room as the door closes, then shoves her hand into the jukebox False was kind enough to decorate her cell with. She wiggles her hand about for a moment, then grabs onto what she was looking for - one last diamond.

"Oh, False," Symmetry sighs, holding her diamonds up and inspecting them in the light. "I know you're gonna see that you were wrong. But you're not figuring it out fast enough, and I want out. I'm sorry I had to bring things into my own hands."

Symmetry places the diamonds onto her crafting table. "Alright Falsie. See you soon."

[whilmsy]

nothing bad ever happens to tcd!mumbo (lie)

Hello miners and crafters welcome back to another episode of I Cannot Stop Thinking About TCD and I now blame @stiffyck for this because of their incredible askers (@buzzybeeboi thank you but also i blame you too, thank you for starting this au i’m very normal (lie) about it /pos) for making a very beloved au where Mumbo has been thrown into TCD and gets to witness Scar’s past before joining hermitcraft (there is more to the rambles than just this, and the incredible @5ievel-w-c-q is the very person - blame them for the dialogue used as he started it <3 /lh)

It’s ironic, really, that the one that's technically already undead is the one that gets bitten. It couldn’t be any more ironic.

The scene still replays in Scar’s head: the world going slow and yet moving faster than he could ever run. Teeth sinking into skin, the thought of I’m too late ripping his hopes and dreams apart, his brother in everything but blood showing him that love still existed in this god forsaken world being the one that’s taken.

Mumbo calls his name, he tries not to think about how he told him it.

‘Scar. I forgot my name, so I just named myself after my favourite gun.’

He’s starting to hate the weapon, hands trembling as he aims it at the floor and attempts to remember how to turn the safety on after so, so long.

Mumbo’s hold on the gun doesn’t go unnoticed; he could take it from Scar’s trembling hands and shoot him with it. Scar would let him.

“No!” His voice betrays him, weak and broken and everything he told himself he wouldn’t be in the beginning. “You’ll be fine, you’re-” In the beginning you learn not to make promises, you learn to give up on the little things, because nothing good survives here; it’s why he’s still living. “We don’t know Mumbo, you could be fine. You’re not human! Maybe you’re immune!”

He hasn’t felt so childish in so long, hasn’t tried to be naive like this in a long, long time.

Mumbo hasn’t let go of the gun, he doesn’t stop staring him down like this is a contest.

Scar would live through breaking his leg over a hundred times if it meant he’d never have to live this moment.

“Please. Scar, we know what happens.” They both do, Scar taught Mumbo about it just like Mumbo taught him about vampires. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The recent scar marking his face stings.

You didn’t mean it, he thinks, clenching his jaw and trying to stop the way his chest feels tight, you were protecting me and I didn’t stay out of the way.

“You can’t just leave me.” Scar begs, foolish and young and yet never regretting letting another person into his life. It was all going so well- it’s not fair. “I’m not going to- I won’t. We said we’d get out of here. Together.” I will let you kill me if it means I do not have to, I will drop this weapon and I will finally give up. If it means I don’t have to be alone, I will give up.

He is tired of loneliness, is tired of this world and the struggle to live in it; and when he was, Mumbo offered comfort. He cannot lose it.

His hands keep shaking, Mumbo doesn’t let go of the gun.

“I’m sorry.” Mumbo says, and it says everything it needs to and nothing at all, and Scar wonders, choking on his own sobs, if this is what heartbreak feels like.

Mumbo guides the weapon back towards himself, it’s steadier with his brother’s hand holding the barrel of the gun on top of Scar’s own that’s not at the handle of it. Mumbo’s hand is warm, but it’s cold in a way; comforting. Even through the choked tears, held back with bitten lips and heaving breaths, the sound of the safety clicking off echoes like it’s in a theatre.

Normally, Scar aims at the head. This time he can’t, because he knows that wouldn’t help his brother. That would not give him peace. With a heaving breath and a barely held back whimper, he aims the gun at his brother’s heart; he is glad Mumbo is holding it with him, because the tears in his eyes blur his vision.

Mumbo takes a breath that sounds as shaky as Scar feels, and he tries not to think about final breaths. Mumbo closes his eyes, and finally, Scar lets the barely-there facade fall. Mumbo is trusting him to do this; is asking him to so they don’t have to find out if vampires can die any further the hard way.

When you love someone, sometimes you have to let them go, and Scar wonders if pretending to hate his brother will let him feel nothing again.

He can’t bring himself to look, trusting that Mumbo will help keep him steady one last time as he shuts his eyes and pulls the trigger.

[pixiemage]

Through a Crack in the Void

Part 1 / ???

[ –– | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[Watcher!Grian has a hold on my soul, just so you know. It's an awesome concept and it has inspired me, so - here. One of those Grian-ends-up-on-Hermitcraft-Season-6-by-accident fics, because that's what my writer brain was craving this week. Enjoy!]

{This story can also be found on Archive of our Own}

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His heart was pounding, his back was aching, and his skull felt as though it might split in two. The void screamed in silence around him and though his wings cried out for some sort of relief - forced to fly while bearing a deep-seated, aching kind of pain that felt as though he had been flying for hours - the skin of his face still burned, the sting as fresh as the moment he had forcibly ripped his mask from his own face.

It wasn’t meant to be irremovable.

It wasn’t meant to be a prison.

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

It was just his luck that the godlike beings who had taken him into their care weren’t like the benevolent deities he had first met, weren’t like the curious and clever and somewhat playful individuals who had kept watch over Evo.

Watchers weren’t meant to be unnecessarily cruel, or so he thought, but the ones who had taken Grian weren’t like their brethren. Grian just hadn’t realized it until it was too late.

They were still after him, still attempting to track him down, still on his tail - he could feel their otherworldly gazes scraping against the void substance around him, missing him by inches, making his skin crawl - and Grian knew that the only way to try and shake them was to leave this realm and find a world to hide in. It was risky. He knew full well that it was risky. He would have to use his (forcefully given) Watcher abilities to do so, and that would only call their attention to him with how close they were. But if he was quick enough, if he could get through before they reached him, then the portal he would make would close behind him and they would have no way of knowing where he was without searching every single server in the universe.

So Grian would just have to be quick.

Not ceasing his flight, he closed his eyes and looked inward, reaching for the warm center of power that he had become more than familiar with since being trained to become a Watcher himself. He tugged at it, molded it, flung it out into the void–

“ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ʖ╎∷↸.” *

Something clawed at the edge of Grian’s wing, something not-quite-solid that sent white-hot pain coursing up the limb. He would have cried out if he had been able, but the sound caught in his throat, and instead a choked, desperate, strangled sort of noise left him. They were behind him. They were right behind him. Struggling to ignore the pain in his wing, he forced himself onward, forced himself to focus. A server, any server, any with a vulnerability. Any that would let him in.

Please.

“ᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ 𝙹リᒷ. ↸𝙹 ᔑᓭ ||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹ꖎ↸ ᔑリ↸ !¡ᒷ∷⍑ᔑ!¡ᓭ ∴ᒷ ᓵᔑリ ⎓𝙹∷⊣ᒷℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᓭ ∴⍑𝙹ꖎᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ ⍑ᔑ!¡!¡ᒷリᒷ↸.” **

…liars. Liars.

The words were dripping with the same false sweetness that Grian often wished he had never fallen for in the first place, the promise of no repercussions should he obey one that he was no longer as easily deceived by as he once was.

Just a little more…just–

Beneath his hands, beneath his magic, he felt a point in the void give way. It exuded a welcome sort of warmth and the promise of safety, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since leaving Evo in the first place. Despite the metaphorical flames now licking up his back, Grian rushed for it, throwing himself against the code at the server’s border and putting all his strength behind breaking through. It burned to the touch, server defenses fighting against his intrusion, but he didn’t waver. He didn’t have the luxury. It took a few seconds, a few long agonizing seconds during which he couldn’t help wondering if he’d make it before they reached him, but then he was falling head first past lines of code and into a brand new world.

He only had enough time to register that there was grass beneath his burning palms and his knees before his magic gave way of its own accord, the gap he had forced open in this server’s walls sealing up again in an instant. He was safe.

The thought was like a button. The second it clicked into place all the tension and adrenaline left Grian in an instant, and he slumped sideways onto the grass with his wings splayed out, twitching and exhausted, behind him. There was still a burning pain coming from where one of the Watchers had clipped the underside of his right wing, the muscles strained and the skin beneath his feathers feeling as though it might be inflamed. There was a dampness soaking through his feathers in that area too that suggested the attack had broken the skin, something he hadn’t even realized mid-flight. And his feathers - Void, his feathers. He was fairly certain he had lost a decent number in his escape, not enough to stop his flight but enough to cause discomfort. Many were awry, a few feeling as though they might need to be removed, and at some point he was sure he would have to preen before the irritation of unkempt wings drove him absolutely mad. He would also have to get his hands on some new clothing. He usually didn’t have much against purple, but the tattered and abused robes he had once worn had been lost somewhere in his escape and the purple gold-trimmed tunic and trousers he was left in were his last ties to those from whom he was trying to escape in the first place.

But that, he decided, was a problem for Tomorrow Grian. As it stood, Today Grian just wanted to lay here in the grass for as long as humanly possible, only moving long enough to find some sort of easy, temporary shelter before night fell. It wouldn’t do to end up in an endless death loop thanks to hostile mobs swarming him right at spawn.

Assuming this was the world’s natural spawn.

And assuming it wasn’t a hardcore world, of course

Grian sighed, letting his eyes drift shut as his breath made the grass blades in front of his face flutter about. It would be his luck to end up on a hardcore server, wouldn’t it? Hopefully he had enough residual magic in the tank to bypass admin access and check. After what he had just pushed himself to do it would be a few days before he was back up to normal levels.

But…later. Maybe he could get away with a short nap before sundown…

…or not.

Grian was almost asleep when the otherworldly hum of a portal caught his attention. His eyes snapped open and his breath hitched, and despite his aching limbs and pounding headache he forced himself upright to scramble back from the sound on all fours. His wings hung limp and useless against his back, shifting just enough so as not to get stepped on, but Grian paid them no mind. He was too focussed on the obsidian portal that had appeared twenty feet in front of him, perched on a tiny hilltop he hadn’t even noticed until now.

A sudden anxiety rocketed to life in his chest at the sight, all the air leaving him and his eyes going wide. His arms shuddered beneath him and he could hear his heart hammering rapidly in his ears. Portals. It had always come down to portals. Every statue, every tower, every bedrock-decorated monument in Evo had led to a portal, had led to an update, had led to the End, had led to them. Portals had turned, in Grian’s experience, from harbingers of change to harbingers of destruction.

But there was a difference this time. It took him a tick or two longer than it should have to notice it, but notice it he did. Unlike Evo’s portals, this one stood alone, lacking the signature broken bedrock frame that every Watcher-placed gateway was outlined with. It wasn’t placed by them. At the realization, Grian’s panic lessened, but only a fraction.

A lone, unbroken portal could only mean one thing.

Players.

And while Grian had been a player himself at one point - and technically still was - he hadn’t been expecting company so soon, if it all. Dammit. He should have checked that first, despite his exhaustion. He should have pulled up an admin panel to see what he was dealing with before lowering his guard. Maybe the admin of this server had noticed his name on the player list? Maybe someone had come looking for the intruder in their world? Though a part of Grian couldn’t stop his overactive imagination from spiraling and imagining what else could go wrong for him today, he also acknowledged that whatever he might deal with here would be incomparably better than what he had left behind.

As the first shadows of players began to form in the purple light of the portal, Grian dragged himself to his feet, immediately on the defensive and wishing he had something to protect himself with. For a moment he contemplated flying to safety - but after what he’d already put his wings through today, that didn’t feel like an option.

The first person to step through was a man in a brown jacket. He looked friendly enough, his expression one of bright curiosity as he looked around the little coastline the portal had appeared upon. He didn’t notice Grian at first, though when he did he looked just as surprised to see Grian there as Grian was to see him. Perhaps his suspicion that someone had come looking for him wasn’t quite accurate?

“…oh. Uh–”

The man was cut off by someone else coming through the portal, a guy with a stockier build and a beard. Grian barely caught sight of green and brown clothing before the second stranger collided with the first, both of them tumbling into the grass.

“Scar, what–?”

“Sorry! Sorry Iskall, there’s–”

“Why are you right in front of the portal, dude?”

“I got distracted! There’s a strange man here, and he looks hurt!”

“A strange–” The second man, Iskall apparently, detangled himself from his friend and peered around, going silent when his bionic eye fell on Grian. “…oh. Hallo there.”

“Uh–” Grian barely got the sound out, too exhausted and worn and tense and on edge and out of it to form enough words to make a sentence. He took a step back, then another, thinking maybe he could sneak away the moment they were distracted.

But then another person came out of the portal, and another, and another still. Two men in lab coats, one with a beard and one who looked like he might be a creeper hybrid. Then someone in a suit appeared behind them both, half-hidden by the growing crowd before the portal.

What the hell was happening here? Who were these people?

“Oh - oh hello!” The more human of the two lab-coat-wearers perked up, waving slightly but looking confused. He turned to the creeper hybrid. “Doc, did Xisuma say something about a new member at the last meeting?”

“No, he did not,” the man called Doc denied, eyeing Grian with a calculating stare that was made all the more menacing by the red-lit bionic eye he, like Iskall, apparently had. He looked like he might have a mechanical arm as well, but from this distance it wasn’t clear and - frankly - Grian was too focused on other things to ask.

“We can ask Xisuma when he gets here,” Iskall suggested, helping his friend - Scar, was it? - to his feet.

“I’ll go let him know. Be back in a tick,” another voice chimed in, and though something about it was familiar, Grian didn’t have the presence of mind to pinpoint exactly why.

He felt like he was intruding on something here. He wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, technically, so he sort of was intruding. These people were all friends, clearly, and as more people appeared from the portal - a man with dog ears, a woman in a pink cardigan, someone who looked like a red creeper, a blue humanoid slime - it became even clearer that Grian didn’t belong.

He may have escaped to this server for refuge, but that didn’t mean he intended to intrude upon the players who already called it home.

A few more hurried, stumbled steps took him further back still, but then his foot slipped when the terrain beneath him changed and he found himself falling backward onto sand, his aching wings flailing out behind him to try and slow his fall. His burned palms chafed against the course ground when he landed and he let out a sharp hiss of pain, the sound coming out more avian than human. By now, three more people had appeared, a blond in a brown wool sweater and a brunet in a yellow and black tee bookending the third member of their little party, a man with flame-blond hair who didn’t look quite human…though Grian couldn’t quite decide what he was. All he knew was that, of the three of them, he was the one to stare and gesture to Grian while loudly demanding:

“Who‘s this guy?”

“Tango!” the blond next to him admonished, whacking him on the shoulder. “Don’t be rude!”

“What?” ‘Tango’ held his hands up, feigning innocence. “Just asking! I think we all wanna know!”

“Yes, well, be that as it may, you don’t have to be rude about it, do you?”

“Zed’s got a point, man,” the third of their trio smirked. “You’re not making a good first impression.”

“Ganging up on me, Impy? Really?”

“Wha - Impy?!”

The trio kept bickering amongst themselves, laughter rising from them, and they were nudged away from the portal by a sighing Doc who was muttering something under his breath about “Bickering like children”. Around them, everyone else began to murmur and chatter amongst themselves, many of them glancing in Grian’s direction while trying - and failing - to be discreet about it. The volume grew slowly, conversations creating a continuous babble that Grian couldn’t even begin to decipher. He felt as if he couldn’t get enough air, the edges of his vision blurring slightly–

“Who are you though?” the slime hybrid asked Grian, drawing his attention, and Grian - who was still sprawled out on the sand and had managed to back away enough to feel seawater lapping at this fingertips - stared wide-eyed up at the stranger who had been so quiet in his approach that Grian hadn’t even noticed him.

Or maybe that was his exhaustion impairing his perception and reaction time. That could be it.

As it was, Grian was left gaping at the blue stranger with his mouth opening and closing with no words forming. He barely managed to get a strangled “I-I…” before a new voice cut through the chaos.

“Everyone settle down!” At the command, the chorus of voices began to quiet, and almost like magic the sea of people parted to reveal a man wearing the strangest armor Grian had ever seen. But based on the way he settled the crowd, the way everyone seemed to be deferring to him, Grian could only assume this was the server admin. “Why don’t you all step back a bit, alright? I think we’re sending our guest into a bit of a panic.”

A panic? Was he panicking? Ah. Perhaps he was. That would explain the shortness of breath if nothing else, but as being on edge had become the norm for longer than Grian would care to admit, he hadn’t even realized how quickly his heart was pounding in his chest or the way his wings - useless though they were - had hunched up around his shoulders with puffed feathers in a show of defensive intimidation.

The admin approached him while the rest backed away, his eyes smiling beneath his helmet, and he crouched before Grian so they were almost on eye level with each other.

“Well hello there stranger,” he greeted, his voice gentle and friendly. “Sorry if we startled you. We’ve just moved servers, you see, and we didn’t realize this one was already occupied.”

“Oh, is it?” a voice cropped up from over by the portal, where a few new faces had appeared. The woman who spoke was clearly a zombie, her patchwork skin and bright ginger hair standing out in the crowd. “Ah, that’s it then. Wrong server everybody, back in the portal! Think we got turned around!”

A spattering of laughter arose from the crowd, and Grian’s eyes flitted between the newcomers. A man dressed as a knight, a woman with goggles, the glimpse of that same familiar suit from before–

“Hey now, ignore them,” the admin chuckled lightly, waving a hand in front of Grian’s eyes to drag his attention back to his face. “Cleo’s having a bit of a laugh. Why don’t we start with introductions, yeah? I’m Xisuma, the server admin for this lot of fools. Mind if I ask your name?”

His name? …which one?

“Can’t–” Grian cleared his throat, the word coming out hoarse and quiet. “–can’t you check the…the whitelist?”

“True, I could do that,” Xisuma conceded. He tilted his head to the side. “But it seemed a bit more polite to ask in person first.”

It was beginning to dawn on Grian that maybe, just maybe, he had no reason to be so defensive in the face of these new players. They seemed friendly enough, their bright sense of humor was already apparent, and the admin - Xisuma - was being immeasurably kind. It was a genuine kindness too, not the sickly false-sweetness with which the Watchers had tricked him into an even falser sense of security. Surely he could entrust Xisuma with his name, right?

“I…I’m–”

“Grian?”

Grian’s head snapped up, that same familiar voice from before drawing his attention. He knew that voice, he just couldn’t put it to a face or a name. Then the creeper hybrid - Doc, right? - stepped aside, and the familiar suit he’d kept seeing moved into his line of sight along with the player who was wearing it, and–

“M-Mumbo?” Grian breathed, his eyes wide as saucers, the sight of his friend he hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly cementing the sentiment that he was safe here. If Mumbo was among them, they had to be good people. They had to be.

Mumbo was crossing the distance between them in an instant, dropping to his knees beside Xisuma and not hesitating to reach forward and help Grian sit up better when his shaking arms struggled to get him upright.

“Grian - oh Void, what happened to you? Where have you been? Gods, your face–”

“It’s - it’s a long story,” Grian whispered. “I - how are you here?”

“How am I - Grian, how are you here? Last I saw you–”

“Was before I left for Evo, I know,” Grian agreed, all but clinging to Mumbo’s arms to keep himself upright. Now that the tension had mostly drained from him, exhaustion was setting in again and it was becoming harder and harder to keep his eyes open. “I - I’ll explain later, I just…Void am I glad to see you.”

Grian let himself fall forward, trusting Mumbo to keep him upright while he clung to him in as good of a hug as he could manage with his limbs so worthless right now. He pressed his face into the shoulder of the familiar suit and took a breath, finally letting go of his paranoia for the first time in years, at least for the time being.

“I didn’t even look when Scar said there was a stranger,” Mumbo was babbling now, hugging Grian back and muttering into his hair. “I just went to tell X about it. Void, I didn’t even realize - I hadn’t seen - I mean if I’d realized it was you, I would’ve saved everyone the hassle and vouched for you right then and there!”

“You’re vouching for him now, then?” Xisuma asked, a crinkle of humor in the corners of his eyes.

“I - yes, of course!” Mumbo immediately confirmed, smiling sheepishly over Grian’s head at the admin. “Goodness me, yes. He’s a friend. A good friend.”

“Then I assume it would be alright for us to stay on this server?”

The question was directed at Grian this time, who shrugged infinitesimally.

“Not my server. Go for it.”

Mumbo huffed out a quiet chuckle, and Grian smiled against his shoulder while Xisuma got up from the sand.

“You all know the drill!” he called out, drawing the crowd’s attention. “It looks like everyone is through the portal. So whenever you’re ready feel free to make your way to the district you’ve chosen for your base, and Mumbo and I will ensure that Grian gets the lay of the land. Alright? I’ll try and keep you updated if the situation changes.”

There was a wave of varying agreement and thanks from the crowd at large, and while some - Scar and Iskall and Doc - lingered for a moment to ask Xisuma some questions, Grian paid it no mind. He felt safe - truly safe - for the first time in over a year and the relief was palpable. He knew it wasn’t permanent, knew there was a chance he would have to keep an eye out for problems later down the line, but for now it was all he could do to throw thanks to fate or the Void or whatever deity might be looking out for him that he had landed in the same server as Mumbo of all people. After everything that had happened, having a friend at his side was more than he could have asked for.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Galactic Translations: *There you are little bird. **Come home, little one. Do as you're told and perhaps we can forget this whole thing ever happened.

[To be continued...?] [ –– | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

If you have any idea, any existing ideas whatsoever that you want an excuse to write to continue the Tango glitch fic storyline, PLEASE -

(however if the horror of a forever uncertain fate is what you were aiming for in the first place I VIBE WITH THAT SO HARD feel no pressure to continue if the story is done)

thanks Shade for the idea! i saw your other ask and i like the general idea of it :)

(also as much as i like uncertain endings the anxiety in me needs arcs like this to have a proper ending. how happy that ending is is up to my creativity :3)

first part

second part

…

Tango steps through the doorway.

And vanishes.

Impulse lets out a choked sob and buries his face in his hands. Brody numbly puts his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Alone on the other side of the door, Etho slowly sinks to his knees.

Tango is gone. Forever.

“No!” Impulse wails into his hands. “Nooooo!”

Even Brody can’t hold the tears back.

All three of them blame themselves. Maybe if Impulse hadn’t killed him during the game… Maybe if Brody had done better with the doorway… Maybe if Etho had tried harder to dissuade him from going first…

...maybe Tango would still be here.

This doesn’t feel real. How can Tango, a friend they’ve had for years, more years than they can count, just be GONE? So quickly? So abruptly? So… So FINALLY? He was here just seconds ago, talking and moving, eyes full of life and emotion. And now…

Gone.

Etho stares through the doorway with hollow eyes. Not only is his close friend gone but now… now it’s proven that he’s stuck in here. Alone. Forever. He can’t follow Tango without meeting the same fate.

“What do we do now…?” asks Brody quietly.

It takes Etho a moment to realise that Brody is looking to him for guidance.

“I… I don’t… know…” Etho forces himself to breathe. “I-I guess I can’t come through the door. But I can’t stay here forever either. I guess it’s a case of picking death or a fate worse than death.”

His eyes flicker to Impulse, who is still crying into his hands. He has to blink back tears of his own as his heart aches, not just for his lost friend but for Impulse, who has lost his BEST friend. Can he in good conscience force his own death on Impulse as well? To lose one close friend in one day is bad, but two could break him.

But is a fate worse than death really preferable?

“Impulse,” Etho says softly. “Look at me.”

After a moment, Impulse raises his head and looks at him with red, puffy eyes. “Please don’t leave me,” he croaks. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”

Etho reaches out with his hand, palm towards Impulse, almost but not quite touching the doorway. Impulse mimics the movement with his own hand. It’s almost like they’re simply on either side of a window: able to see each other but not to touch.

Fresh tears spring to Impulse’s eyes.

They both know this is goodbye, one way or another.

“Am I closing the doorway, Etho?” Brody asks quietly.

He’s asking Etho what he wants to do.

“Yes."

“Are you sure? You know that once it’s closed, I might never be able to open it again?”

“Yes,” Etho says again. “I know it’ll be hard, but I-.”

“WAIT! STOP!”

Impulse jerks sharply and spins around at the familiar yell.

There’s no way it’s him, there’s no way he’s here, there’s no way it’s him, there’s no way he’s alive, there’s no way-

“Tango!” Brody gasps.

In the doorway to the lobby stands Tango, with someone Brody has never met before behind him: Xisumavoid.

Mouth open and tears still dripping uncontrollably from his eyes, Impulse scrambles to his feet and tackles Tango in a tight hug, unable to believe Tango is here.

“You’re okay…!” he cries. “I can’t believe you’re okay…!”

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers back. “I’m so sorry for doing that to you. But I’m okay.”

“H-How…?”

“Later,” says Xisuma firmly, approaching the door. “Etho, come through the door.”

Etho’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Trust me, it’s safe. It’ll take you back to Hermitcraft.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“That’s what happened to me,” says Tango, still hugging Impulse. “It sent me straight back to my last respawn point on Hermitcraft. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. But it should do the same to you.”

It’s the ultimate trust test. Does Etho trust the word of his friends?

Yes, he decides. He does.

Seeing the look in Etho’s eyes change, Xisuma nods. “See you back on Hermitcraft.”

Etho nods back and, after taking a deep breath, steps through the doorway.

He vanishes, just like Tango did.

“Everyone back to Hermitcraft,” Xisuma orders.

Tango releases Impulse and is immediately enveloped in a hug from Brody. “Don’t you dare make me grieve for you ever again, you asshole,” he mutters.

“Wasn’t my intention, trust me.” Tango can feel Brody trembling slightly. “But I won’t.”

After saying goodbye to Brody, the three Hermits head back to their server. Impulse’s head is spinning and his legs feel weak. He may faint at any moment.

“Are you okay?” Tango asks him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I never imagined I’d be sent straight back here. I thought I was either gonna just walk straight through or immediately get my face obliterated. I-.”

He breaks off as Impulse again pulls him into a hug. “Impy? Buddy?”

“I never wanna lose you again,” Impulse whispers. “Ever.”

Tango wordlessly hugs him back.

After a few minutes of the two just holding each other and recovering from the fact that they were almost separated forever, someone else joins the hug, wrapping their arms around both of them.

“Etho!” Tango beams and pulls him in. “You got back! Are you okay?”

Etho nods. “I’m okay, I’m okay. A little mentally scarred, but I’ll live.”

“Me too.”

“I’m so glad you guys are okay,” Impulse breathes. “For a horrible, horrible moment back there, I thought I’d lost both of you forever. That was so, so scary. Why did the doorway do that?”

“The game likely freaked out at having a dead player try to cross into the lobby without going through the normal resurrection protocols,” Etho responds, “and ejected us completely back to our normal world.”

“Thank god it did,” says Tango, shivering.

Impulse nods and holds his friends tighter to him, almost afraid that they would be ripped away from him at any moment.

“Yeah, thank god.”

…

“-then Etho turned up and everything was okay,” Tango finishes. “Well, KINDA okay.”

“What do you mean?” asks Zedaph, munching on the cookie Tango gave him.

“We’re physically fine, but I’m pretty sure at the very least, Impulse and I are scarred for life. I don’t even wanna think about what that might’ve done to Brody and Etho too. It’s got to the point where every time I even think about Among Us, I get a chill down my spine.”

Zedaph gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. That sounds horrible.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still LOVE the game. It’s a lot of fun. I just… I don’t know if I can go back there after what happened. I don’t know if I can trust it anymore.”

After a moment, Zedaph says, “What if I went with you?”

Tango glances at him in surprise. “Really? I thought you said you never wanted to play.”

“I said I had no interest in playing but that was a while ago. Honestly, I’ve kinda wanted to play with you guys for a while and this is just the excuse I need.” Zedaph squeezes his best friend’s hand. “I know how much you love that game, Tango. If I can do anything to help you feel comfortable with it again, I’ll do it.”

“Oh, Zed…” Tango smiles gratefully and hugs his best friend. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Zedaph continues to hold his best friend, his mind already on the game he’s avoided playing for so long.

He likes glitches. They make life fun. Unpredictable. But not this time, not for his best friends. There may be some more glitches when Zedaph joins the Among Us crew, but he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure these glitches are only for fun.

He won’t let the game hurt Tango or Impulse ever again.

[nicoforlifetrue]

I think I've seen this film before (and I liked the ending)

He remembers when he was taken.

He remembers fighting and flailing and trying desperately to get back to his friends, to get away because he didn't know what was happening.

He remembers the faint tap of something to his side and the visions of his worst nightmares that forced him to be quiet.

He remembers kneeling and listening to words, being told that he had the privilege of being a watcher, being told his new name.

He remembers the urge to scream and fight, wanting to lash out, but being too terrified to do anything.

He remembers watching as a thick fluid was forced down his throat and thinking he was choking.

He remembers being watched by two beings as the pain started; pain was an old friend to him, but this, this feeling was brand new, and he didn't know if he would survive it as he felt the familiar heat of cut muscle start to rise…

…But he remembers one stepped forward.

One with soft blond hair that peeked out from the hood, who carefully held his head in their lap and ran fingers through his hair and rubbed between his shoulder blades— silent unlike the other two, silent but so viscerally there, their warmth clashing against the cold of the room as his back lit up with fire.

He remembers the two leaving just as two lines of lava erupted deep in his spine, he remembers the one holding him, running a thumb along the side of the lines and gently pushing in; he remembers that made the pain just a little bit lighter, just a little bit less breaking.

He remembers as the lines started to push, forcing their way to the surface of his skin, and he remembers how he’d started screaming as the inside of his back tore and he slammed his eyes shut.

He remembers the soft press of fingers on his back alleviating the pain the smallest fraction— he remembers the force moving the feeling to go faster— he remembers his head laying on a chest, listening to a soft steady heart and long deep breaths that he found himself mimicking, the two hands carefully massaged his back.

He remembers the sound of his own back tearing open as a new sensation flooded his mind, new limbs he didn't know how to work dripping blood and gore onto the floor.

He remembers the pain of new nerves and bones exposed to the cold air, he remembers the only thing grounding him being the heart beat and those hands moving from his back to his hair, carding through it as the pain slowly faded to a dull, unpleasant throb.

He remembers shakily joking that at least the worst was done with; he remembers them not answering, simply gripping him tighter.

A silent warning that he recognized.

‘It's not over yet.’

The next burn was one he had a few vital seconds to prepare for, not screaming that time as his gut suddenly felt like it was being rearranged, instead biteng into his lip so hard it bled as he tried to focus on the heartbeat in his ears instead of the sounds of something in his body moving, tried to fixate on the hands in his hair instead of the shifting in his gut.

When the pain faded after what felt like hours— when he felt himself lifted yet kept close to this person's chest, the steady, calm heartbeat grounding him from the lingering soreness and the burn in his back— he wanted to ask again, ask the one that had stayed if they were done with him.

They didn't answer.

Instead they honored him by washing his back of his own blood and gore, gentle hands stitching the gashes in his back closed.

“So you're like the medic of this little operation then?” he had asked. “You're required to patch me up before forcing me through another round of torment.”

He remembers watching the person freeze, clearly handmade bandages half wrapped around Grian’s torso, the mask hiding their eyes but the faintest flick of a frown flashing across their lips for a split second.

And he remembers them shaking their head twice, answering both his questions silently.

He remembers them carrying him around for a while, until the last pangs had stopped.

He remembers them re-teaching him how to walk with the new appendages on his back.

He remembers them showing him how to preen, letting Grian stumble and pull on their feathers before he tried to do it on his own.

He remembers them shoving him off the side of a building into the void, his terror for those few vital moments as he froze, how they had grabbed him before the void had swallowed him. He had asked why and they’d said nothing, just pushed him again— and this time he had understood as instead of freezing in fear (they would catch him, he knew that now) he started to struggle in the air as his wings moved on their own.

He thinks there was pride in that blank expression when he shot up with fluttering wings.

He would mutter under his breath around them, about how something was unfair, morally wrong, how something was right. They wouldn't do anything, but he thinks at times they nodded— a small, barely noticeable nod.

They would correct him gently, and after he had flinched away from their hands during the first staff training they shifted him with the stick; kind, careful, aware, as if they knew.

He didn't trust them, and at times he found himself hating them.

Until they weren't there.

“Aeipra will be unable to train you for a short while,” a higher up informed him, his mentor at their side. “Lerva will fill in until they return, understood?”

Lerva was high up enough in the chain to speak.

Lerva followed the rules, apparently.

The staff caused nightmares— awful, horrid nightmares meant to break the soul… his mentor never used their staff on him.

They apparently were meant to.

He’d felt like he was breaking quite quickly, this new mentor was downright cruel.

Where his would silently encourage questions, was invested in Grian’s opinions for all their apathy, this one seemed set on getting rid of them, and any sort of sound would receive him his worst memories on loop.

Where his mentor was kind in their corrections, gentle and carefu,. this one was cruel, any mistake receiving punishment.

Where his mentor for their silence was warm and understanding, this one in their words berated him and tore him down.

“Have they not trained you at all?” the new one would spit, “or are you just defiant, hm?”

There was a hidden threat there, one he caught onto quite quickly. He was given leniency for being so young, his mentor's gentleness would be treated far more harshly.

When they returned, their gentle and large wings stretching to shadow him, he didn't scoff for once; after all, how much had his mentor risked for Grian’s own comfort?

“You hate me,” were the first words his mentor ever spoke to him, the words raspy from disuse, the tone willfully blank.

‘I hate what you are’ he found himself thinking in his shock. “I don’t,” he had said instead.

After that, words— though far and few between— came despite the clear breaking of rules… and he learned things.

He learned that the other liked to fly, not for speed but freedom; he learned the smallest changes in their tone and the slightest change in their wings.

They became a figure he never really had in his life.

A parent of sorts.

They shared his own joy of chaos, that joy slipping through painstakingly-crafted walls at times, teaching him small tricks that could never be traced back to them that would cause the smallest ripples in the still pond around them.

They shared his joy of flight, showing him tricks and dives, teaching him how to adapt those tricks from his mentor's large swooping wings for his own smaller fluttering ones, a glider vs a sprinter they had whispered to him when he asked.

They shared his joy of building, playing elaborate games easily disguised as training of tricks and perspective, learning new items and fun ways to use them.

They understood his want for life, to live and enjoy and steal away little moments of heaven for himself.

They knew him better than anyone else, despite not knowing a lick of his story.

Seeing them go back was what hurt.

On that one time, because night and day were nothing it was always just time, as they hurried him awake— saying nothing as they grabbed him and tugged him along— twisting through corridors and shoving him through a sputtering portal.

It was a blur after that, of flying and twisting and portal nausea.

And when they finally stopped, as they gave him that soft smile, the one of reassurance and safety, his heart dropped.

“No no no come on no stay please—” he knows he's begging as he grips onto their robe. “We’re out- stay- please, they'll kill you if you go back, please—” because his mentor could be killed, his mentor wasn't immortal like he was.

With soft hands (too soft, artificially soft, meant to be covered in calluses and stained with soot) they take the hand clinging to them, rubbing soft circles in it as they smile.

“Goodbye my child,” they whisper to him as they drop his hand and spread their wings.

And he can't follow, he can't chase after the only parental figure he ever had, because he has to hide, he's free and they are not. He can’t follow because then, what would their life have been worth?

So he hides.

----

:D

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Can you do Grian or Bdubs + hurt/comfort?

hurt/comfort is my favourite thing to write so thank you!! :D (I decided to do both hermits if that’s okay)

Requests are still open! Please read pinned post before requesting.

…

  Grian has just finished showing Bdubs around his mansion when the two head outside and see that the sun is just setting.

  Predictably, Bdubs immediately gets out his bed. “Gotta sleep, hold on a sec.”

  Grian waits until Bdubs has gotten into the bed before breaking it out from under him and darting backwards.

  “Hey, give it back!” Bdubs yells. “Give it back, Grian!”

  “Come and get it!” laughs Grian, taking off running.

  Bdubs pursues him towards the trees. He’s everso slightly shorter than Grian but they’re fairly equal in speed, so Bdubs is able to keep up with him. 

  As they get further into the jungle, Bdubs speeds up, keeping his eyes fixed on the back of Grian’s red sweater. He gets closer and closer, until his friend is almost within reach. 

  Then Grian bursts through a patch of vines hanging in their path, and since Bdubs is so close, he’s unable to avoid crashing right through them.

  He screams as the vines grab him, pulling him back. Traumatic memories flood back to him as he thrashes around, but the more he moves, the tighter the vines wrap around him. Choking for air, he manages a few strangled screams for help before his voice gives out and he can no longer make a sound. 

  It’s happening again, his panicked brain realises: the jungle is swallowing him, stopping him from moving or speaking. He can’t fight them off. Not again. 

  Up ahead, Grian had almost entirely lost Bdubs in the darkness until he heard Bdubs’s final scream. Using a torch he happens to have on him, Grian locates Bdubs and his stomach drops as he registers his friend’s condition. 

  Bdubs is tangled in at least a dozen vines. He’s passed out but they’re holding him up by his arms, neck, and torso. 

  Without hesitation, Grian draws his sword and starts slicing through the thick vines. Thankfully, it only takes about four swings to release Bdubs, who immediately collapses forward. Grian catches him and, despite his friend’s weight, lifts him onto his back. He carries Bdubs out of the jungle as quickly as he can and takes him to his bedroom in the mansion, placing the bed he stole from Bdubs and laying his friend gently down on it. 

  For the first time, Grian notices the horrible red marks snaking around Bdubs’s arms, scars from the Season 5 jungle now accentuated by his second time being held by vines. 

  As he’s inspecting Bdubs’s slightly swollen wrist, he hears his friend’s quiet voice, “I’m so sorry, G.”

  “What?” Grian stares at Bdubs, who is now awake but has turned his head away. “Bdubs, there’s nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I’M the one who should be sorry for stealing your bed and causing that to happen. I-I never thought something like that would happen.”

  “It’s okay, Grian; I don’t blame you.” 

  Noticing that Bdubs has an air of embarrassment around him, Grian pulls up a chair and sits down, clearing his throat. “You know… When I first came to Hermitcraft, I had nightmares every night. It took me a really long time for me to recover from my trauma enough to go about life without getting a panic attack every half hour. That was three years ago, and even now, I still sometimes get triggered really badly.”

  He clears his throat again as he starts to get a little choked up. “Recovery from trauma isn’t linear. No matter how long it’s been, you’ll have good days, bad days, and days when it’ll feel as raw as the day it happened.” 

  Grian pauses. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I understand. And I’ll certainly never judge you, so you have no reason to be embarrassed. If something like this ever happens again or if you just need to talk to someone who’ll listen and understand, I’m always here for you.”

  He finally stops talking and regards Bdubs with a slightly awkward look. For a few seconds, he’s horrified with himself, worried that he might have misread the situation or gone too intense. 

  But finally, Bdubs turns his head to face Grian, his large eyes shining with unshed tears. “Th-Thank you, Grian. You’ve no idea how much that means to me. A-And if you ever need the same, I’ll try my best to help.”

  Grian smiles kindly. “Thanks, Bdubs. So do you feel well enough to head home?”

  “A-Actually, G…” Bdubs hesitates. “Would you mind if I… Um…”

  Luckily, Grian realises what he’s trying to say immediately. “Oh, yes, of course you can stay here tonight. I’ll go get my other bed; I think it’s in a chest outside.”

  He leaves the room and takes a moment to compose himself just outside. After all that, he hadn’t been expecting to spill his heart out to Bdubs, though he thinks it must have helped his friend to know that someone else is going through the same thing he is. 

  Grian has only ever heard whispers and snippets of Bdubs’s trauma, but as someone who’s gone through something similar, he knows better than to ask any personal questions about it. If Bdubs wants to confide in him, that’s his choice. All Grian needs to do is support him as best he can. 

  All Grian needs to do is be the person for Bdubs that he wished he had himself all those years ago.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Now that team ITS is playing Phasmophobia on stream (I mean they are when I am sending this) can we get ghost hunters team ZITS?! I'd love to see the full team of morons (affectionate) dealing with ghosts.

I love Team ZITS so much, they’re such morons (affectionate). Just a few notes for this one:

1) CW: swearing

2) This loosely takes place in Phasmophobia. Some details are different/altered to fit the story better

3) Also I would just like to clarify that even though they reference playing Among Us, all my fics are set in the fictional world. I will never write about the real people, only their Hermitcraft characters/personas. 

...

  “Okay, guys.” Impulse addresses his team in the back of their van, handing out pieces of equipment as he talks. “We’ve got a poltergeist living in this house right here. Our job is to get evidence and get the hell out before it kills us. Any questions?”

  Zedaph raises his hand. “Yes, what happens if it kills us?”

  “We die,” Tango says wryly. “Permanently. So don’t get killed.” 

  “I guarantee at least one of us isn’t getting outta here alive,” Skizzleman remarks. “And all the times we played Among Us is telling me it’s gonna be Tango.”

  Tango shoots him a scowl. “Hey!”

  “Well, if you really don’t wanna die first, find some kind of electrical room and send Impulse there,” snickers Skizzleman. 

  Impulse rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Skizz. Anyway, we only have one piece of equipment each so we gotta make sure we work together. Skizz, you’ve got the camera to take pictures of the ghost. Tango, you’ve got the EMF reader so you can gauge the strength of ghostly presences. Zed, you’ve got the temperature tracker so you can check when the rooms get freezing. Everyone understand?”

  “What have you got, exactly?” Skizzleman inquires.

  Impulse holds up the item in his hand. “A flashlight that doubles as a UV light. I’m the one who’s gonna go first into each room and probably get killed in, like, ten seconds.”

  “A true hero,” says Zedaph, nodding. 

  “And don’t forget that the instructions say that if the flashlight beam starts to blink, that means the ghost is hunting,” Tango adds. “We should stick close to you so we know when to panic.”

“Gotcha.”

  The team makes their way towards the dark, dilapidated house. 

  “Man, the only way this could be more stereotypically creepy is if it had cobwebs in the windows,” mutters Skizzleman. “I dunno about you guys but I have zero trouble believing a ghost lives here.”

  Impulse pauses outside the house, glancing back at his friends. “Okay, the name of the ghost is William Thomas. And it said in the instructions that saying a ghost’s name will anger it, so try not to do that.” 

  With that, the four creep into the house. 

  They tiptoe into the first room in the house, Impulse shining his flashlight hesitantly around to make sure they’re alone. He switches to the UV light but no fingerprints show up anywhere.

  “Hey, have you guys heard that song about Shia LaBeouf being a cannibal?” Zedaph asks out of the blue.

  His friends stare at him.

  “No I haven’t, and also, what the hell?” says Tango.

  “I’ve heard it,” Skizzleman says. “What made you think of it NOW of all times?”

  “I was just thinking about how the ghost might be a cannibal and eat our bodies when it kills us, and that made me think of that song and now it’s stuck in my head.” 

  A pause follows this.

  “Aaaaand now it’s stuck in mine too,” Skizzleman sighs. “Great. Thanks.”

  “The image of a ghost feasting on our corpses is stuck in MY head and now I don’t want to move,” Tango says. “So thanks for that, Zed.”

  Zedaph grins to himself. “Anytime.” 

  A tense pause follows this.

  BANG!

  Skizzleman screams. “AHHH, WHAT WAS THAT?!”

  Impulse, heart now racing, instinctively shines his light towards the source of the noise. “I think it came from upstairs! Tango, Skizz, go check it out!” 

  “Why me?!” yelps Skizzleman. 

  “Because you’ve got the camera! Now go!”

  Tango drags a protesting Skizzleman away towards the stairs. 

  “Okay, while they’re doing that, let’s start eliminating rooms as the epicentre,” says Impulse to his remaining friend. “Keep the temperature tracker up.”

  Zedaph nods. “Will do.”

  The two start exploring the downstairs rooms. The kitchen and dining room show no signs of paranormal activity but when they enter the living room, something changes.

  “I’m cold,” Zedaph whispers, the temperature tracker trembling slightly in his hand. “It says three degrees. Not quite freezing yet.”

  “Right, okay… Stay here and monitor the temperature, I’ll go check for handprints by the stairs.”

  He moves off into the hallway and shines the UV light around at the staircase. 

  Upstairs, Skizzleman is clutching the camera so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “Oh my god, I hate this so much. I feel like I’m gonna have a damn heart attack.” 

  Ignoring him, Tango activates his walkie talkie. “Impulse, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” comes Impulse’s crackly voice. “Found anything?” 

  “Nothing yet. We’re just having a look around.”

  “Okay, good. Remember, saying the ghost’s name a lot will make it mad so if you want to aggravate it a bit to get evidence, do that. But make sure you don’t say it too much or it’ll REALLY get angry.”

  Tango nods. “Gotcha. Talk to you later.”

  He puts away the walkie talkie and turns to Skizzleman, who is staring around the dark room with fearful eyes. “H-Hello, Mr William Thomas? Or, uh… Bill? Can I call you Bill?”

  He gets no response from the ghost, so he tries again: “Hey William, do you play Minecraft?”

Tango stifles a laugh.

  A few seconds later, a heavy-looking lamp in the corner tips over and falls all on its own, nearly crushing Skizzleman. 

  Impulse glances sharply up as he hears Skizzleman scream. He immediately hears Tango’s loud voice reassuring him, so he forces himself to relax. Nothing bad is happening. His friends are okay, they’re just a little on-edge, like Impulse himself. He just needs to relax.

  Inhaling deeply, he takes out the plastic water bottle he brought with him. As he sips at the cool water, he hears Skizzleman’s voice yelling from the upstairs bedroom: “HEY BILL, FUCK OFF!”

  Tango’s voice shrieks back, “SKIZZ, DON’T PISS OFF THE GHOST WHO’S TRYING TO KILL US!”

  “IF HE’S TRYING TO KILL US ANYWAY THEN WHY CAN I NOT TELL HIM TO GO FUCK HIMSELF?”

  Impulse chokes on his water. 

  “Impulse, I think Skizz is freaking out,” says Zedaph, peering round the door. “And I’m starting to freak out too. The temperature went below zero, like, six times in a few minutes.”

  “Right, okay, that’s one piece of evidence collected,” Impulse says. “Two more to go, then we can get outta here.”

  As Zedaph opens his mouth to respond, they both hear a loud thumping noise and Skizzleman screaming. 

  His heart leaping into his throat, Impulse and Zedaph dash upstairs at top speed and both almost trip right over Skizzleman on the landing.

  “Skizz, what the hell?!” yelps Impulse.

  Lying face down on the carpet, Skizzleman is glad it’s dark so the others can’t tell how red his cheeks are. “I… tripped over my own feet.” 

  “Oh, I hate you so much.” Impulse hauls his best friend to his feet. “Please tell me you have some more evidence for me.”

  “I got a level 5 reading,” Tango says, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. 

  “Okay, good, that counts. We got freezing temperatures downstairs, so now we just gotta look for-.”

  He breaks off as an ominous noise sounds from downstairs.

  The group stare at each other in terror.

  “Please tell me that was just someone’s stomach,” Skizzleman groans. 

  Impulse’s flashlight beam starts blinking.

  “Run!” Impulse screeches.

  The four scatter.

  Skizzleman and Zedaph dash inside the bedroom and jump into the closet, both breathing hard. They fall silent, listening intently for any sounds outside the closet.

  A minute goes by. Then another. Then a few more.

  “So,” whispers Zedaph. “Come here often?”

  Skizzleman can’t help a quiet snicker, despite the situation. “No, I really don’t. What about you?”

  “Well, oddly enough, this isn’t my first time hiding from a ghost in a stranger’s wardrobe.”

  “That genuinely does not surprise me one bit.”

  Zedaph’s walkie talkie emits a sudden burst of static, giving the two a fright. “Zed, come in. Where are you guys?”

  Zedaph fumbles with the device and hurriedly whispers into it, “Impulse, I think the ghost is still nearby.”

  “Nope it’s not. It’s currently having a very intense staring contest with Tango, so we could do with your help right now.”

  Zedaph and Skizzleman exchange a look of horror.

  Downstairs, Tango has been backed into a corner, frozen with fear as he makes terrified eye contact with the gruesome poltergeist, who is less than three metres away from him. “Impy,” he whispers out the corner of his mouth. “Help me.”

  Impulse dithers by the door, itching to go help his best friend but unsure of exactly how to do that without getting one or both of them killed. 

  Zedaph and Skizzleman appear next to Impulse seconds later. “Can we distract the ghost in any way?” the former asks urgently, as Skizzleman takes a picture of the spirit. 

  Impulse hesitates. “I-I don’t know how we’d do that.” 

  “Well, we have to do something! We can’t just let it kill Tango!”

  The poltergeist moves jerkily to the side, causing Tango to let out a strangled cry and press his back harder against the wall. “Help!” 

  Reacting quickly, Skizzleman snatches the temperature tracker from Zedaph and tosses it at the ghost. It passes right through its body, nearly hitting Tango.

  “Hey, William fucking Thomas, stay the hell away from my buddy!” Skizz yells at it.

  “Dude!” Impulse yelps, as the poltergeist turns on them. “RUN!”

  The three scramble for the door.

  Tango, seeing his chance, dodges around the ghost and follows, almost tripping over at least twice as he does.

  Skizzleman again trips over his own feet on the concrete pathway, and since he’s at the front of the group, the other three promptly fall over him and end up in a heap on the ground, panting hard from fear and exertion. 

  “Oh my God,” gasps out Impulse. “Is everyone okay?”

  Zedaph sticks his thumb up. “Very much below average, thanks.” 

  “My heart is about to die but yeah, I’m fine,” Skizzleman breathes. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for months.”

  “Months?!” Tango is lying sprawled on his back, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Dude, I’m never gonna sleep well again.”

  Impulse pushes himself into a sitting position and watches the ghost float around angrily in the front doorway. “Looks like he can’t leave the house. PLEASE tell me we got three pieces of evidence.”

  At the same time, all three of the others speak:

  “Temperature,” says Zedaph.

  “Photo,” says Skizzleman. 

  “EMF reading,” says Tango. 

  “Right, then.” Impulse gets to his feet and opens up the back of the van. “Let’s get going. We can process the evidence in the van.”

  Skizzleman is the next to stand up and come to the back of the van. Rubbing his chest, he raises an eyebrow at Impulse. “Dude, we are DEFINITELY stopping at Taco Bell on the way home. We DESERVE Taco Bell.”

  Impulse chuckles. “Oh, you’ll hear no argument from me there, dude.” 

  As Zedaph hops into the back of the van, he grins back at his friends. “Now that was what I call a Shia Surprise.” 

  Impulse frowns and starts to open his mouth but Skizzleman shakes his head. “Don’t even ask, bro.” 

  Finally, Tango hands the EMF reader to Impulse and wordlessly starts to head to the front of the van but Impulse stops him. “Tango, are you okay? I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more in there.”

  Tango slowly shakes his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all.” He gives a pale grin. “Just promise me that next time we get the urge to do something stupid with the paranormal that we’ll use a oujia board like normal people.”

  Impulse laughs. After that experience, he’s just happy his friends are all okay.

  “Deal.”