#grian smells like the ocean

[solargeist]

this is sooo Grian and the Watchers core

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Gem would like to pretend that things are normal around Magic Mountain.

Or, well, that everyone else is normal, and she’s keeping all the weirdness to herself. She’s the one who decided to go a little creepy this season, after all, and as far as she can tell, she’s the only one smelling the rot coming from the river. All her neighbors should be fine, and have only commented that her boat burns a lot of coal fumes that sort of reek. It’s definitely not rot, and things are normal for them, and they are decidedly abnormal for her.

Which is fine! Gem wants her friends safe! Sure, she’s been hearing weird gurgling noises from the flooded caves that line the beaches, but she’s probably just hallucinating. Or maybe Scar is smacking salmon heads on note blocks again, despite living on the other side of the mountain. And sure, Impulse died and came back completely washed of color, but that’s just a demise thing. It’s just the creepy she dragged along with her- Joel’s totally fine, and that’s enough evidence for her.

Well, it would be if not for the fact that the salmon she’s been getting from fishing are starting to look…strange, all sharp-finned and much slimier than normal. And the cod, too, have far too many gills, like gashes down their sides. Grian pulls up a fish one afternoon and Gem swears it’s got six eyes, but Grian only remarks them as “weird patterning” and shoves it right into the furnace for cooking.

He’s been eating a lot of fish, recently, straight from this very river, the one that smells of rot. Caught them all himself. He’s also been fishing a lot- Gem doesn’t know the last time he worked on his base. He keeps trying to dredge up a book. She asks him one day why he keeps going if he’s already got a ton of books from the water, and he sounds haggard when he replies:

“The book, Gem. I’m not looking for a book. I’m looking for the book. It’ll give me all the answers I need. I haven’t found it yet, but the ocean will provide for me. I know it’s the next one.”

Something in the way he looks at her makes her gut twist. His eyes are empty, glossed over, and she knows the joke is that he looks like a cod, but it’s- he’s different, now, washed out and shiny skin, little to no meat on his bones, bags like pits under his soulless eyes. Something about the way he phrased that—the ocean will provide for me—makes her spine recoil back, feet dragged backwards towards her boat. A fear-stricken laugh bubbles up Gem throat as she tries to remember the last time he wasn’t fishing. When was the last time he slept?

Come to think of it, when was the last time she slept? Isn’t there a warning for those who stay up too late?

And when she tells him it’s an addiction, Grian just laughs it off, throws his rod into the sea, and pats the seat next to him. And then there she is, fishing alongside him, like she was always doing. She was planning to do this, yes. More and more of Magic Mountain arrives, plus Etho, who brings along a disc to put them in the mood. It’s a swan song.

The ocean sings back. It gives her an image of a great tall lighthouse, cherished by watery angels, who dance around it. It gives her the size, the colors, the materials to recreate it in verse. She smiles. It tells them all to knock another hermit off the list of survivors. She grins.

Before turning to join the group on their quest, Gem looks into the water one last time. Staring back is a well-kept woman with long, shiny red hair.

There is a book in her hand.

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

Fishing, Grian thinks, is possibly the best way to get a mending book.

Best way to get anything, really. Is it a bit inefficient? Does it take a while? Yes! That's what drives him crazy. But it's also what makes it worth it.

He could trade with villagers, sure, but where's the satisfaction in that? It's just instant gratification, that is. When it's him and the sea, sitting on his dock and smelling the salty air and listening to the water and the waves and the whispers, that's real happiness. Carving enchants into a fishing rod, something peaceful and soothing, instead of armor or weapons.

It's a give and take with the ocean, like the tides almost. He gives his time and his dedication and the sea gives him something in return. Sometimes he gives more. Once he gave a mending book to the sea just in case. A worthy offering. When the book sank he felt contentment on the breeze. So maybe it worked. You wouldn't know it for the lack of mending he's caught.

Maybe it's less about the mending and more the experience. Getting in touch with the sea. Feeling its wild moods on the salt on his tongue or the water soaking into his boots. Staring at the fish as they stare up at him. Feeling bits of kelp and sea grass tug at his legs. It's nice in a weird way. You give your time and love to something and it gives something in return.

Gem gets it, Gem's a smart one. She's building her whole base around the sea, and sometimes Grian spots her at night in her lighthouse just staring out at the open ocean. The sea loves her too. When she surfaces after exiting her boat or her storage room, she's smiling. And if he spots her he smiles back, and they both get it.

The others don't. The others think Grian's just gone crazy and maybe he has sort of, but that's also not really it. Sometimes he doesn't want to catch a mending book because it's his excuse to be with the sea and he loves the sea. What'll he do when he gets it? Gem is lucky, she doesn't need any excuses. That's probably why no one thinks she's gone crazy even though there's giant flying fish around her lighthouse and a strange darkness in her eyes sometimes.

Sometimes Grian puts his hand into the water and he feels the slightest movement against his fingers and he smiles.

[peppered-moths]

allies or enemies (or a secret third thing)

ao3 link

cw: one (1) scar-typical innuendo

So, here’s the thing, right.  There’s only one bed.  Jimmy doesn’t mind–honestly!--but it gets… cramped.  Especially with three of them.  Oh, they’ve tried, but it’s like doing a puzzle on a tiny raft in the middle of the ocean.  Somebody’s always getting kicked in the face, or elbowed in the gut, or (on one notable occasion) the bed lighting on fire because somebody placed a torch too close to it.  No naming names.  So, yeah.  It’s not exactly ideal.

Their solution, which works well enough if you ask Jimmy, is this:

One person gets the bed.  (This is rotated daily.  However, bed privileges are often traded in exchange for doing menial tasks like mining, or making sure Scar’s rollercoaster still works.)

One person gets to sleep on the ground.  (Somehow, not the worst?  Jimmy thinks he’ll end up with a bad back eventually, but that’s a future problem.)

One person keeps watch.  (Should they be rotating this throughout the night?  Yes.  But it’s a formality… for now.)

If it works, it works. And it does!  Promise!  Jimmy really couldn’t be happier with this arrangement.

It’s only once they’ve settled in, after the first week, that he starts noticing… problems.

—

It’s Scar’s night with the bed.  Really, it was supposed to be Jimmy’s.  Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that Scar was an expert salesman, and had been swindled into giving it up for… twelve bamboo and a couple of cherry blossoms.  Utter junk.

So there he is, stewing a little bit as Scar settles into bed with what Jimmy thinks are obnoxiously contented sighs.  Lizzie’s already half asleep, curled up in the cherry blossoms, even though she’s supposed to be keeping watch.  

Just as he resigns himself to a chilly night, there’s a rustle behind him that’s not pink bedsheets or pink flowers.  No, instead it sounds like… feathers.  Jimmy narrows his eyes.

He shuffles around, making as little noise as possible.  And, yep, there’s Grian, wings tucked in close to his body, creeping towards the three of them.  What is he doing here?  He’s still dark green, there’s nothing he can do to any of them.  There’s no sword in his hand, or TNT, or–Jimmy squints–any creeper following him up the mountain.  It’s just… Grian.

And then there’s another rustle, and this time it really is from the bed.  Scar sits up, hair mussed and eyes bright even in the dark.  He’s staring right at Grian.

Jimmy doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Scar to lift a corner of the pink sheet in a silent invitation.  And he definitely doesn’t expect Grian to take him up on that offer, curling close to Scar in the bed with an ease that feels almost practiced.  Jimmy blinks a couple of times, as if he might be hallucinating.

No, Grian’s definitely still there, one wing spread over the bed like a downy blanket.  It’s… weird, yeah, definitely, but there’s also… not really anything wrong with it?  Obviously, if they were conspiring or something, that’d be a whole other thing.  But it really looks like they’re just sleeping.

Jimmy closes his eyes back to slits.  He’ll just… keep an eye on them.  Or something.  After all, this is probably a one time thing.

—

It was not a one time thing.

“That pillow smells like waffles,” Scar tells him confidentially, “I’d know it anywhere.”

“He’s sleeping here even when you’re not?” Jimmy blurts, before he remembers he’s not supposed to know anything about that.  That being the several nights Grian has wound up on top of the mountain, in the bed they share.  Only when Scar is there, of course.

Nevertheless, Scar seems to take it in stride.  “Well, you know how it is!”

No.  No, he definitely doesn’t.

Still, he doesn’t say anything when Grian creeps back into Scar’s bed that night, pretends he doesn’t hear them talking in hushed voices (though he certainly can’t make out what they’re saying).  He could only imagine what would happen if Lizzie found out.

Jimmy is woken up by her shriek.  He blinks, blearily, up at the moon, which is still very high in the sky, and mourns the rest of his sleep for a long moment.  Then he refocuses on the situation.

Grian is sitting bolt upright in the bed, wings flared out and eyes wide and shiny in the moonlight.  Scar has tumbled off, and is propped up on one elbow, also staring.

Lizzie stares back at them, mouth wide open.  She whirls on Jimmy.

“Did you know about this?”

He does the best to rub the sleep from his eyes.  “Know wh–”

“That he was sneaking,” Grian groans and faceplants into the pillow, “around here at night?  That he was–oh, I don’t know, stealing!  Or something!”

“I don’t think he’s stealing,” Scar says thoughtfully.  “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed.”  Grian mumbles something into the pillow that Jimmy can’t make out.  Lizzie wheels back around to point a finger at Scar.

“You!  Don’t talk!  You’re fraternizing with the enemy!”

“...Is he the enemy?”  Jimmy wonders.  “We haven’t really had any problems with these guys yet.”

“Fra– fraber– fasternizing seems like a very strong word.”

“I didn’t ask you!”

“Lizzie,” he says.  “It’s late.  Like, really late.  Can we deal with this in the morning?”

“And let him stay?”

“C’mon, can’t a guy just sleep with his buddy?” Scar pipes up from the ground.  Jimmy and Lizzie wince simultaneously, and he’s pretty sure Grian does too, though his face is currently buried in the pillow.

She stands there for another couple of moments.  “Oh, fine, whatever.  Don’t come to me when he steals all your valuables!”  She storms off to the other side of the mountain, which… isn’t really that far away.

“...rude,” Grian says, muffled by the pillow.  Scar climbs back onto the bed.  Jimmy closes his eyes, even though he knows he won’t get another wink of sleep.

They never do deal with it in the morning.  Lizzie fumes for a couple of days, but even she gets used to it.

—

Jimmy had half-expected Lizzie’s discovery to stop Grian and Scar’s late-night sleepovers, or for them to at least be more subtle.  The problem is, Grian just keeps showing up.  It’s like he’s figured out their (nonexistent) schedule.  Jimmy has to deal with his smug face as he flops down onto the bed next to (or sometimes on top of) Scar, feathers draping over the edges of the flimsy frame.  It’s insufferable.  Half of him–the very yellow half–wants to kill him, just to make him go away.  It only gets worse.

And then he kills Grian.  And then Scar kills Grian.  And Jimmy can’t help but think oh, well, there’s the end of that as Grian explodes Scar’s reputation board along with the last scraps of his own reputation, wings bristling with undisguised rage.  As he tells his teammates that he and Scar are top of the list, that he’ll kill them and kill them ‘til they’re out of the game.

He’s wrong, because of course he is.  Because it’s Scar and Grian.

He’s trudging back up the mountain, body aching all over from new bruises and scrapes, but silently gloating in the amount of kills he’s managed to make this session alone.  And then he stops.  And stares.  And thinks, oh, come off it, really?

Grian’s in bed with Scar.  Yes, again, even though it’s Lizzie’s turn and he’s honestly starting to get annoyed for her.  She’s already standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“I know I’ve said it before, but he really is the enemy now,” she tells Scar as Jimmy approaches.

“I can hear you,” Grian says, miffed.  “Besides, you’re fine, Lizzie.  Or, well, you’re not, ‘cause you’re allied with them,” he sweeps an arm towards Jimmy, “but you’re fine.”

“Aw, he’s harmless.”  Scar loops his arms around Grian and squeezes a bit, which causes him to puff up remarkably like an angry cat.

“You’re dead,” he hisses, but Jimmy’s finding it very hard to be intimidated by him when he’s curled up in Scar’s arms, face half buried in his chest.

Lizzie looks towards him, a little helpless, but Jimmy doesn’t have a solution to this either, other than–

“Make another bed?” he tries.

Lizzie draws herself up.  “Absolutely not.”

Right, okay.

She clearly sees the skepticism in his face.  “It’s the principle of it, Jimmy!”

“The principle.  Not the fact he’s threatened to kill us, or that he blew up Scar’s reputation board–”  “Oh, I am still annoyed about that,” Scar remarks quietly, like he’s just remembering, “--or anything like that at all?”

Lizzie grumbles wordlessly.  Grian sprawls his wings farther across the bed (and Scar) as if he’s daring them to kick him out.

“Fine.”  Lizzie sounds like she’s trying not to kill Grian herself.  “Finefinefine.  But!” she points at Scar.  “It’s your funeral.  Except it won’t be!  Because we won’t hold one for you!”

Jimmy nods, because he’s not really sure what else to do.  Scar just smiles, and Grian just shrugs.

“I can arrange that funeral,” he says.

“Oh!  You would?”  Scar sounds positively delighted.

“No– not like that.  I mean I’m going to kill you.”  Grian tries to explain, but Scar just seems star-struck, eyes bright even in the darkness.

Lizzie rolls her eyes and stomps away.  Jimmy follows, casting a last glance at their one-sided argument.

No, definitely not a one time thing.

—

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Grian informs him, the first time it happens.  He’s huddled close into Scar’s side, gray wings tickling his shoulder.

“Oh, yep, totally,” he reassures him, but he must sound a little disbelieving, because Grian presses a finger hard into his shoulder.

“I mean it, Scar.  One time thing.  I just don’t have a bed of my own yet.”  Then why didn’t you go to Mumbo or Skizz? he wonders absently.  He doesn’t really care, at the end of the day.  Grian’s right here, after all, and Scar would be an idiot not to take advantage of that.

So he just smiles, and lets Grian get comfortable.

One time thing, indeed.

(And if he makes a point to steal all of the Spanners’ wool out of their chests the next day?  Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

[cm-lily]

I read a fanfic once, I forgot which one. But in that fic, they have this idea where Gem and Grian's base has this... Foggy vibe to it. Like compare it to the cherry mountain that's all pink and petals and then you have these two bases which are straight up The Horrors™

I Just love that idea

So much I've been thinking, what if the whole Magic Mountain is surrounded by fog? A magic fog and mist that just always surround the area and got thicker as the sun set further. The area always seems cloudy. As if there is an eternal cloud forever covering the mountains. It's either raining, or storm, or cloudy. The only time it's clear is when Grian finally got his mending book, the pink snail arrive, and it switch to storm when Scar got the mending book. (He got struck by lightning a few time if he reaches that area)

Joel's base not only has lantern illuminating it, but souls as well. They didn't stay idle, but never went too far. Some of them even transform, Into tanuki or fox or wolves and even Koi fish and Axolotl. That fly in the air instead of water, obviously.

Sometimes there's things passing by on Impulse's build. Something tall and slender, with long limbs and sharp claws. They're not Enderman, Enderman don't crawl. Impulse said they're cool if you pretend they didn't exist and just let them... Lurks around.

Something is wrong with Mumbo's base. I want to call it decaying, but it's not. It's more like redstone veins appear around the blackened grass, the air smells like gunpowder and something acid. Or maybe copper.

Many hermits had reported seeing the sight of a statue angel that just appear on top of Skizz's unfinished Pyramid. It appear when they're looking at it, but then they look around and it's gone. The statue has never been in the same position everytime someone look at it.

Most people don't like going to Scar's base at night, not only because of how creepy it look like surrounded by those fog. Like the rest of them, something strange always happens. Like animals looking bigger and more beast-like the moment night arrive, ever seen a cow just grows multiple horns and it sounds like those horn are breaking out of it's skull? Or that one time, one time his horse stand up on two feet? Probably not. Scar said they're harmless. Except for the snail—he said. The snail isn't his. That's why they damaged his build and become a nuisance.

(There was once a time, a time where clouds whirled around his ore pillar, clouds that are made of limbs and hand and eyes and it just stretched and climb down from the pillar. It never reach the ground, fortunately.)

Grian never stopped fishing. Even if it rains or stormed outside. He's smelly and that's why snails like him and his horse don't. Totally not because Pluto saw him turn into giant mer-man with many eyes and tails and sharp tooth. Definitely not. Don't feel weird when you feel like you're being watched. Or because shadow-like silhouette wander around his wheat farm, or a silhouette of something massive that was illuminated everytime lightning strikes, looking down from the cherry mountain toward his and Gem's base and, occasionally, you felt like you found a body you recognize in the water—

And that's where Gem comes in! Gem is someone who stopped you before you decide to jump in the water and check who's that corpse is. And the one who shooed off the many eyes that lurk in the muddy river side of Grian's base. Grian hates her for that but there's nothing he can do. Gem, like Grian, is someone who can walk in the middle of the storm unharmed. Most of the time, she make sure that none of the hermits fell into the trick of her other neighbors.

just don't let that distract you from the fact one of her build is actually sentient and breathing and is always staring at you. Or the fact there's blood around the rocky shores if you squint into the dark river/soon-to-be-ocean. Or the fact that, just like the angler, the skull always felt like it's watching even if there's no actually eyes in it's socket. Gem is always present when you want to have a tour or just so happened to passed that area, but... If she's not there to guide you, would it even be worth it to be stabbed with a trident and got dragged into the water?

[crowsongcaws]

Life Series/Traffic Life Headcanon: Jimmy is a seer. Jimmy will have moments where he has strangely vivid dreams that follow a stronger sense of reality than the typical dream. Additionally, he does sometimes "zone out" and receive prophecies. This started after Evo. Because of the complications with Evo, he's never explicitly told anyone about these things happening to him, but he's aware that he can see the future to an extent. However, having no guidance, he's never learned how to interpret these prophecies or go about investigating what any of it means. This means that, despite receiving plenty of glimpses into the future, his accuracy for predicting what will actually happen is fairly low, and he's unsure if he can force prophecies to happen to him. In 3rd life, he receives a prophecy where he correctly predicts that the final battle that ends with a victor will be in the desert. This makes him overly confident during the alliance with Scar and Grian, except as it turns out, that particular battle was the final battle for him but not for the true winner. Grian ends up winning in the desert. In last life, he dreams about Scott covered in blood looking exhausted but still wearing this almost manic grin and decides to keep his distance and be wary, assuming Scott was going to be cursed and go on a rampage that would kill Jimmy. Scott ends up winning. In double life, when Tango gets killed (which kills him, too, in return), Jimmy gets a vision where he sees Pearl barely alive leaning over a very-much dead Scott. At this point, he's fed up with his visions and just comes to what he thinks is a lazy conclusion and says that Pearl will win. Pearl ends up winning. In limited life, he has a dream where all he can really feel is a breeze and it faintly smells like the ocean and blood. This dream is so subtle that he doesn't realize it's a prophecy. Martyn wins, and Jimmy only connects the dots about his prophecy afterwards. In secret life, Jimmy zones out (and ends up collapsing on the floor) in his and Martyn's base and has a vision where he feels as if he's falling. He even hears a loud clap of thunder the moment his body "hits the ground". His body feels paralyzed, his vision is hazy and dark, and he hears Grian say "She's dead. You won---". Unlike in the previous games, Martyn is not only there to observe this happen to Jimmy, but he was also in Evo with Jimmy, so Jimmy lets him in on the prophecies, dreams, and visions he's had. Martyn, of course, tries to interpret it himself, but what with the rules of secret life, he's having a hard time getting any information out of anyone. When Lizzie dies, Jimmy thinks that that means it's his time to win a game. However, once again, he only realizes the true meaning of his vision when at the very end, Grian tells Scar that Pearl is dead and Scar's the winner. Do the watchers know that Jimmy is a seer? Of course. Jimmy generally has bad luck and, again, has no idea how to interpret the glimpses of the future he gets, but the watchers see to it that he gets killed as soon as possible so that he isn't able to share his prophecies with anyone who could interpret the information better.

[cloudwhisper23]

Another prompt underway! This is yet again for @grow-bettah's Grumbo Month event! I hope y'all enjoy!

Day 16: Vampire

Mumbo didn’t like to keep secrets from his friends. Honest! He didn’t like it one bit, not when it meant he kept having to make excuses for why he couldn’t join Grian’s silly fish diet, or Scar’s completely vegetarian diet. His friends gave him odd looks when he declined, and Mumbo knew he could only pretend nothing was wrong for so long.

Being cursed to be a vampire wasn’t very great on a multiplayer server, regardless of how supportive your friends would pretend to be. Their reaction went deep enough that Mumbo could sense it now.

Still, Mumbo supposed he couldn’t complain too much. Iskall had figured it out quite quickly and immediately set about figuring out how to help him sort out his difficulties, encouraging an End bust expedition so no one would question the newfound strength of Mumbo’s wings amongst other treatments to prevent the sun from actually doing any damage.

The End bust certainly helped. Iskall was still busy with other projects, but the fact that he’d been willing to help Mumbo out with this was much appreciated, as was his ability to keep the matter a secret. Mumbo was also in possession of the item frame permit, something that justified the number of cows he’d been killing.

The blood wasn’t very fresh, but again, it was better than starving. The texture of the raw beef in his mouth wasn’t ideal either, but Ren had managed to do it for years by this point, so Mumbo really couldn’t complain. Or well, he could, but he wasn’t going to complain verbally. Certainly not around the other members of Magic Mountain.

Good days ended with blisters and bloody fingertips as Mumbo built up more of the mountain near his base. Bad days were spent curled up in his death chamber having delirious conversations with his llama.

Mumbo quickly found himself getting sick of the constant fluctuation between good and bad days and decided it was time to go out and converse with the other hermits again. Socializing was a good thing, he told himself, clasping the modified elytra onto his shoulders.

Maybe it was time to pay Grian a visit? If he was home, that was. Last Mumbo heard, he’d been dragged away from the dock to help with permit problems.

It would be good to pay Grian a visit, Mumbo decided. If only to distract him from his difficulties at the permit office. With a sigh, Mumbo stretched his wings before jumping from the hill toward Grian’s base. Please be home.

Grian was in fact home when Mumbo landed on the stained surface of the dock. His wings were pulled tight to his body, hardly moving as he went through barrel after barrel in search of something. Curious, Mumbo stood still, observing the increasingly panicked sounds in Grian’s breathing. What had his friend lost?

“You alright there, mate?” Mumbo finally said.

Grian’s wings didn’t so much as bristle, but Mumbo still smelled the frightened scent from Grian’s body. “Uh, yeah. Hey, Mumbo.”

“What are you looking for?” Mumbo asked, relieved that the fear seemed to vanish as soon as Grian registered who was there.

“Oh, nothing important. Just something for a project.” Grian’s wings gave nothing away, once again.

That struck Mumbo as odd, considering how he could tell Grian was still obviously in distress about whatever was missing. “Right…” Perhaps Mumbo wasn’t the only one hiding something?

“So, what brings you over here? Not planning on fishing, I assume.” Grian settled down on one of the piles of barrels.

“Just a social call,” Mumbo answered. “Your base is looking fantastic, by the way. I love the… bird house?”

Grian’s mouth twitched. “Don’t go there.”

“Right.” Mumbo cleared his throat. “So uh. How have you been?”

“Great. Well, as good as I can be with this stupid fishing curse.” Grian gestured vaguely. “It’s been great, figuring out the restrictions and the grudge the ocean holds.”

“Pardon, fishing curse?”

Grian sighed. “I haven’t been doing this as a bit, Mumbo. I have to keep fishing. I have to eat exclusively fish. And if I go into water…” He jumped down, pulled his boots off his feet and sat down on the dock, dipping his feet into the water. “Well, this happens.”

Mumbo’s eyes widened as webs grew between Grian’s toes and scales shimmered on his ankles. “Yeah, that’s… Wow…”

“Mhm.” Grian sounded less than pleased. “It’s manageable, I guess. But still, it’s pretty annoying.”

Mumbo nodded silently. Should he tell Grian about his own curse? It wasn’t the same sort of burden, but maybe there would be some kind of solidarity in knowing that he wasn’t alone in his suffering. Maybe? Or would Grian take it as one-upping him?

Mumbo stood quietly as Grian dried himself off. The faintest frown flickered across Grian’s face, but it was gone before Mumbo came out of his thoughts.

“Well, if that’s all…” Grian trailed off, looking at Mumbo again before going back to his barrel search.

“I, erm.” Mumbo coughed. “It’s unfortunate that the ocean cursed you.”

“Yeah.”

“If, um. If it helps, you’re not the only one.”

Grian paused. “Are you implying that Gem has a curse too? Because honestly, I think she’s more blessed by the ocean than cursed by it.”

“Well, a blessing and a curse are practically the same thing depending on how you look at it. But,” Mumbo added hastily at Grian’s scowl, “that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“What were you talking about then?” Grian resumed opening barrels.

“The… the moon cursed me.”

Mumbo didn’t know what he was expecting. But he finally got a wing twitch out of Grian, even if it was only one on the side of his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m… a vampire. Yep, I’m a vampire this season.” Mumbo nodded, chewing his lip.

“You-“ Grian turned around. “You have to be joking. I thought you were just a bat hybrid this whole time!”

“I was.” Mumbo scratched his neck anxiously. Claws dug into his skin, and he stopped. “Look, mate. It’s like your whole… fish thing. Sort of. Mine just built on what was already there while yours added something completely new.”

“This is why you refuse to eat my catches,” Grian said, half to himself. “So you have to drink blood? Wait, you’re in the sun. How does that-“

“Iskall’s been helping me out some.” Mumbo unclipped his elytra and stretched his wings, the aches well worth the expression on Grian’s face. “We went End busting so no one would question my ability to fly.”

“Yeah, that would… and the sun too, I’m assuming?” Grian was still staring, like he was memorizing every detail of Mumbo’s wings.

“Yep. And as for the blood, I do have to drink it, but it doesn’t have to be hermit blood.” Mumbo nodded to himself with that one.

“So this whole time…” Grian shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Mumbo, is that why you’ve looked so sickly?”

“Pardon?” Mumbo blinked. He wasn’t anticipating this reaction, although it wasn’t an unwelcome one. Grian wasn’t afraid in the slightest, instead concerned about his wellbeing.

“Mumbo K. Jumbo,” Grian said sternly. “Have you been drinking stale blood?”

“Erm… maybe?”

Grian’s wings twitched. “Why?”

“Because it’s what I have available? I don’t have my cow farm set up yet, so I just-“

“Cow’s blood.” Grian shook his head again. “Mumbo. Did the thought never cross your mind to ask me for help?”

“It did,” Mumbo replied honestly. “But you seemed so busy, and well-“

“I’m never too busy for you.”

Mumbo’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t find any words to say. Grian smiled sadly. “Mumbo, if you need blood, ever, you can ask me for some. I don’t mind.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“You could.” Grian crossed his arms. “Remember when you ate my soul to become more human again?”

“That’s different-“

“That’s worse! And I was only opposed to it because I had levels! You aren’t going to drink me dry. I know you.” Grian’s mouth set in a determined line. “Actually, you probably need some right now, don’t you? You’re so pale you’re nearly translucent, Mumbo.”

Mumbo could feel his fangs pressing into his lower lip, but he still protested. “It’s not the worst thing in the world, Grian-“

“You need to drink blood that’s actually good for you.” Grian persisted.

“Fine. Just this once.”

“I won’t hold you to that,” Grian answered softly, stepping forward to offer his wrist to Mumbo.

Mumbo frowned, but he said nothing more before sinking his teeth into Grian’s arm.

It was far sweeter than it should have been.

And Mumbo hated that he didn’t regret it.

[quaranmine]

Letters from the Lookout #4 - Letters Unsent

(HC Firewatch AU snippets, 1,656 words)

Grian wants to write a letter to Scar. He refuses to dictate it, though. CW: bringing back some of the suicidal ideation from chapter 11

August 1989

Jimmy’s flat is pleasantly dark and cozy. The sky outside is dark and rain spatters across the windows. The living room has a lamp lit in the corner, as well as warm light spilling out from the kitchen. The TV is on in the corner, and Joel and Lizzie sit curled up on the couch in front of it watching football. Jimmy isn’t here right now, having popped out to grab some takeout for them all. Joel is under strict orders to pay close attention to the game so he can fill Jimmy in when he gets back. 

It’s lovely, honestly. It feels…domestic. That’s actually something Jimmy had joked about, earlier—he’d said he felt like he needed to domesticate Grian again, after he spent so long during the summer living in the wilderness. 

Grian’s fine with that as long as being domesticated means he can melt into his bed and never leave. With the lights off, preferably. Jimmy seems to think it means other things though. Trips to the shop. To the pub. To the train station. Watching football on the television. 

So tonight Grian’s out of his room to socialize. And by socializing, he means sitting at the kitchen table alone with a notebook and pen while Joel and Lizzie sit in the other room. 

It’s been weeks since he last spoke to Scar. The absence grates on him. Scar would know what to say. He’d understand Grian. He’d fix it all. 

Grian can hardly think about the last time he spoke to Scar. He remembers snatches and pieces of it, but mostly his mind just flits over the day, refusing to settle on any one moment. There is a wall being built in his mind to protect him from the unimaginable. He tries to keep the lid on those memories tight, like it’s his personal Pandora’s Box. It doesn’t stop him from having nightmares about it—about the terrible way Mumbo looked, about the way he wanted to die, about the way the fire smelled and roared—but during the day he always lets his mind slide right off the idea entirely. 

Scar saved his life though. And he deserves more than radio silence for it. 

Grian still has his Forest Service-issued radio. It’s in his room here in Jimmy’s flat. The rangers didn’t bother to take it back from him after they visited him in the hospital, or perhaps they didn’t realize he even still had it. Grian still listens in on it sometimes. He listens to the bustling conversations that the English HAM radio enthusiasts in his area are having on the national talk frequency. He never speaks. Just listens. 

Scar is across an ocean right now, sitting in that lookout tower in the middle of the mountains, and he’s alone again. He’s the reason Grian is right here now. He’s also the reason Mumbo has a proper grave to visit. 

And thus, Grian wants to do better. There isn’t much he wants to do at all these days, aside from simply ceasing to exist, but this is one of them. He wants to close the loop. He wants to apologize. He wants to thank Scar. 

How does one reach a lookout on duty? By letter, of course. 

Grian knows the address of the Wapiti District Ranger’s office. He knows that any letter sent there addressed to Scar will eventually make its way to his cabin via supply drop, or Scar himself swinging by to pick it up on a day off. He just has to write it first. 

The writing is the part that is proving to be tricky, however. The burns on Grian’s arms, and the other exposed parts of his body have already healed but his hands remain a source of frustration. Four weeks on, they’re healed too—technically. He attends physical therapy twice a week. His doctor is worried about something called “contractures” that are causing his fingers and wrist to be consistently stiff. 

He is completely terrified that this will be forever. He’s terrified that the rest of his life is going to be full of fumbling around with things with fingers that don’t work quite right anymore. He never knew how much he took for granted until he couldn’t button his own shirt anymore. 

The doctor is confident it won’t be forever, so Grian clings to that little piece of hope like a life preserver. The doctor just says it needs time, compression, and therapy. The burns could have been significantly worse. If they were, the conversation would’ve been different. He’s been wearing a compression garment on his hand since the moment it was possible to do so and the doctor hasn’t given him permission yet to stop wearing it.  

He’s allowed to take it off now and then though, and so right now it is removed so that he can grasp the pen better. His hands still have poor grip strength, and the pen shakes. It’s either that or from the emotion. He closes his eyes, and pours his focus into keeping the pen straight, but trying to force precision is just as painful as it is ineffective. 

He tries to write, and the pen skitters across the page instead. 

He slams the pen down in frustration and runs his hands through his hair. It’s not working. It’s not going to work. He slowly starts to put the compression glove back on his hands. 

He needs…help. 

“Lizzie?” he calls. 

“Yeah?” she says back from the couch. 

He sets his teeth, and sighs. “Can you come help me with something for a moment?”

A moment later she wanders into the kitchen. Her pink hair is tied in a messy ponytail. For some reason when she walks in, Grian gets the distinct feeling he’s being babysat by them while Jimmy is out. He shakes the feeling off. It’s irrational; Jimmy is only out to pick up food for them, and Lizzie and Joel were invited to hang out. They probably did this every week while Grian was in America. Now he’s just able to be present too. 

“Whatcha need?” she asks. 

“I was trying to write a letter,” he says, and his face flushes with embarrassment. “I, um, can’t.”

He sees her look at the table, and back at him, the realization dawning on her without him having to say it out loud. “You want me to write it for you?” she says.

He nods. “If you don’t mind.”

She grins, pulls out one of the chairs from the table, and sits down. “Sure! I’d love to. Who’s it for?”

“It’s—well, it’s for a guy named Scar.”

“Scar?” she says, and then adds: “That’s a really weird name.” From anyone else, Grian would get defensive on Scar’s behalf, but he recognizes Lizzie’s irreverent bluntness well. 

“That’s your friend from the forest, right?” Joel calls from the living room where he’s been apparently eavesdropping. The way he calls it the forest makes it sound like a concept, a thing, and not a real place Grian briefly used to live. 

Lizzie makes a noise of recognition then. “Ohhh,” she says. “Now I remember you mentioning him before.”

“Yeah, he was in the lookout in the next sector over. He was my friend,” Grian says. “And that’s a nickname.”

“What’s his real name?” Lizzie asks. She pokes him in the shoulder. “You don’t talk much about him.”

Grian freezes. “I…don’t know,” he says. “He never told me his real name. It never seemed to matter.”

How could he not know? He’d never asked. It didn’t feel important. Scar was Scar, and that was all that was ever needed. Maybe it had been all Scar was ever comfortable with. 

Grian came to realize during his time in Shoshone National Forest that in the backpacking and associated communities, names were a much looser concept. On the Appalachian trail in the east and the Pacific Crest Trail in the west, through-hikers often adopted trail names for the journey. Similarly, Scar wasn’t the only fire lookout Grian had heard about over the summer who chose to go by some enigmatic name. 

“Okay!” Lizzie says, sensibly moving straight along past Grian’s mini crisis. She pulls the piece of paper over and grabs the pen. “Dear Scar…” she dictates aloud. Then she looks back up at him. “What next?”

“Um, let’s start by saying I’m having a friend write this for me,” he says.

“Dear Scar…I’m having my wonderful, talented friend write this letter for me,” she starts. Grian rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Something about gift horses. “Next?”

“I’m writing this to say…” he trails off. To say what? How, exactly, is he going to put this into words? He hasn’t planned this out at all but more significantly, he’s not sure he even can.

Dear Scar, I’m alive because you were looking out for me. I’m sorry I left the country before I could tell you that myself. 

Dear Scar, I didn’t kill myself because you talked me into running from the fire again. I’m sorry that I still want to do it sometimes, but I haven’t yet and I think I’m too tired to. 

Dear Scar, you didn’t think I was crazy when everyone else did. I’m sorry I got angry with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you sometimes. 

Dear Scar, you made me laugh. I miss talking every day. 

“What do you want to say?” Lizzie prompts, and Grian realizes that he hasn’t said anything for quite a long time at this point. 

“I—I don’t know,” he says. The kitchen suddenly seems so hot and enclosed right now. “I’m sorry,” he says, and stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says again, grabs the papers from Lizzie. “I’m gonna—I'm gonna do this on my own, thank you.”

He goes to his bedroom, locks the door, and doesn’t come back out until Jimmy is knocking on it and begging him to eat.

[minecraft-cake]

When We Get Home: Main Navigation

A skulk-based minecraft apocalypse au, following the Outlaws Scar and Grian along with various members of the Hermitcraft and Life series servers!

Hello and welcome to my minecraft apocalypse concept! This has been in the works for well over a month or two so far in my personal documents, and I'm happy to finally introduce the first few details. Our first one is a spreadsheet revealing quite a few of the major characters, their infection status, and more! Underneath I'll be explaining the setting and how I've changed up the mechanics of the zombie apocalypse trope just a bit to fit it to minecraft mechanics and my personal taste :].

Status Board:

If there are many changes to this board, it will be updated here! This image may change over time as information is revealed and new chapters come out. For now,

What is the setting?

This is a modern setting, with a minecraft twist! Think of all our modern tech and cities, but with the edition of minecraft mobs and mechanics. Things like government sanctioned hostile mob grinders for citizens to safely gain exp, fully lighted road systems and cities to create safe zones for non pvp oriented citizens, etc. Pretty much everyday normal life but I still want minecraft mobs and items to exist.

What is the "Skulk Virus"?

After the entrance to an ancient ruin was discovered in the outskirts of the capital, a research team was launched to investigate what historians and archaeologists were simply nicknaming “The Deep Dark.”  Not long after the team's investigation and boarding off of the location, outbreaks of a deadly virus began to surface in less fortunate areas of the city, soon spreading terribly from hospitals, slaughterhouses, government sanctioned hostile mob farms, and more. The cause of the outbreak was presumed to be the hostile mob exposure that occurred overnight in the research area due to limited lighting budgets, as the black lichen seems to latch onto life force (mobs, nonhostile or otheriwse) to power a possible hivemind. Despite vaccination and quarantine efforts– the original discovery team going as far as to encase “ground zero”’s entrance in concrete –the spread of death did not cease. Once infected, the “skulk” pathogen quickly overwhelms the brain, using the remaining energy to roam and infect living hosts to spread itself.  The symptoms of contracting the skulk virus itself are most commonly visibly characterized by large, black abrasions and loss of vocal control, along with active decay of the body. It’s theorized that the skulk may distort and/or reconfigure humanoid vocal chords, which is what causes the chittering and racket-y calls usually produced by infected. The virus can also cause minor bioluminescence and hypermobility.  The infected are considered kill-on-sight. The virus controls the body wholly, and any person still conscious will be very unlikely to be autonomous despite vocal claims. It reacts with disturbingly quick instinct, and will rush toward any distinctive indicator of human life. An infected is most dangerous at its earliest stages, as their sense of sight, smell, and taste have not yet deteriorated and the virus has more ways to approximate the location of future host bodies.  

Are there surviving settlements?

There were two main shifts at the start of the end of the world: the prolificacy of death, and the human sense of organization. 

With the outbreak overwhelming major cities and spreading over oceans, Sanctuaries were made out of minor settlements to create safe areas. Usually dictated by some sort of warden, Sanctuaries are walled off communities that vow to be virus-free, safe places to harbor a semi-normal life. They have strict rules, even minor theft or endangerment is not tolerated, and all communities usually fight in groups of four or more. By law, anyone who endangers a Sanctuary is considered Outlawed. They are banned from all Sanctuaries, and their Outlawed status is documented on public forums on a digital record, along with their bounty. While death is not normally encouraged, Outlawed citizens are the exception. Most consider their removal a comfort, whether for revenge, or to deter others from defecting from the Sanctuary, but Outlaws are never kill-on-sight. For anyone hunting an Outlaw, the capture must be returned alive to the Sanctuary they were originally expelled from to face execution. This is to avoid fraud, as payment is usually given in a dedicated flow of supplies and armor to the hunter from any affiliated Sanctuary. 

Outlaw hunters are incredibly rare, and incredibly dangerous to encounter. Many have vowed strongly to protect Sanctuaries, and view anyone outside them as a threat regardless of their legal status. If you are not Outlawed, you are likely to be killed by a hunter to prevent the future endangerment of a Sanctuary. 

Fun Fact: Most of our main characters are Outlawed!

Like I said, this story will heavily follow the adventures of our two main Outlaws, Scar and Grian! It's going to deal with some pretty complicated relationships as well. I'll be taking my time to write these chapters thoughtfully and thoroughly.

We will have long term plotlines with a few of the characters on the board (and some that have been blocked out to avoid major spoilers), so stay tuned! I'd love to answer questions about the au if you guys have any :]. Feel free to check out Scar's Cassette Playlist up on my pinned! It's the music that was left downloaded on his phone when the apocalypse hit and most proper internet connections were severed.

[skeeballcatt22]

Xisuma logged back into the server after a month. He was refreshed and ready to take on the world. Nothing could stop him.

Maybe the giant wall of water could stop him.

His communicator lit up and practically did not stop buzzing as the hermits clamored for his aid. Impulse made a comment about overwhelming him, and the messages stop. That's when Grian sent a final and complete message:

"Xisuma, something is really wrong with the ocean."

Xisuma looked up at the wall of water. He could see large shadows swelling and swimming in the wall. He opened up his elytra and flew to the coast.

The server was huddled on a cliff. Grian sat right at the edge, Doc standing close behind him. Xisuma passed through the crowd and walked up behind them.

"Are you two okay?" He asked.

"You know what's going on, don't you?" Doc asked quietly.

"I do..." Xisuma confirmed. Doc nodded, eyes still fixated on the water. It was... A lovely color. Xisuma couldn't quite define it, but he wished he could recreate it for his everyday life. He turned away though and faced the server.

"There is actually nothing to worry about!" He announced with a laugh, "this is a simple misguided data pack! I wanted to make the ocean a tad deeper. Looks like we got more than that... None-the-less, I'll have it fixed and the water levels should return to normal with the next few weeks. I apologize for the inconvenience."

Grian felt his chest ache. He reached out and touched the silky water. This was it.

Two weeks later Doc and Grian stood looking out at the sun rise. There eyes were wide and there heart pounded. Grian barely sent Xisuma a message before his shaking hands dropped his communicator. Xisuma rushed over to the coast and his face dropped.

The water lapped at the golden sand. The sun radiated out of the shadows of the horizon. There was a rotting smell already swimming in the air. And on the horizon was... Something...

The mass was so large that even hundred of block away, it covered a large portion of the sky.

Xisuma didn't know what it was... But Grian and Doc did

FINISH

[hadesfangsmoon]

A Greek Tragedy

Fresh Water and White Quartz

-

The palace was made of quartz and stone, wide tall and white pillars on either side of the entrance. A large sloping roof above the entrance, covered in vines. There was a large intricate pattern of quartz on the floor that led to the door and behind that door is where the throne of the king lay.

But there was an open hallway before the door of the Kings throne room, the walls made of pillars as it allowed in natural light. Northern guards every were you looked in this hallway of pillars that led to the kings entrance. It was a very open area, many servants sat on the quartz stairs. Speaking in whispers and fond giggles as they walked.

The ocean crashed against the rocky ledge of the beach not too far from the clean palace. Letting in the fresh sea breeze and the strong smell of salt and warm sand.

The palace sat on top of the tall mountain, a ledge on the left side of the palace. Leading to a steep drop to where the ocean was, full of sharp peaking rocks and shallow water. The entrance to the kings throne room was simple but grand, covered in lushes green vines and plants, and rough with sharp rocks. It wasn’t the safest place to build a palace, but it was the prettiest place to put it.

He stood not to far from the front of the large palace doors, it was piercing and intimidating, made of wood and well-shaped metal that was made to last. Quarts and white stones that were shaped into oceans and sea nymphs around the door, telling a story that many could tell you by heart.

He would complain it was a long way to get to the palace, the steps too many for his liking but the charm of the place made up for it. But not for all of it. The quartz was smooth under his leather and worn shoes, he wasn't one for wearing shoes mostly barefoot and free. But his father had insisted he wore shoes, he sighed at the uncomfortableness of the leather that rubbed at his pale skin, leaving bright red marks on his flat and slim feet. The sun burned his sensitive skin, leaving his skin pink and uncomfortably dry. He winced at the mix of discomfort on his body, his hand rubbing at his red and freckled shoulder.

“Are you alright My Prince?” Mumbo asked, formality dripping in every word he spoke. It was weird, Mumbo hadn’t called him ‘My Prince’ in years. A puzzled look replace Grian's irritated face and Mumbo chuckled.

Guards and servants stood behind him and Mumbo. Holding gifts of ‘appreciation’ from his father, the Guards, and servants wouldn’t stay with him. He was not a king, but Mumbo would stay. He was Grians chosen companion, he had to come. He will admit it would be lonely without Mumbo, he could not leave him with his father and The Palace to keep him company.

Keeping himself busy with new projects and barely leaving his workroom and forgetting to take care of himself. A thought Grian hated. He took a deep breath and sighed “Yes I am fine, shall we enter?” Grian looked at Mumbo, his face still and flat. The black-haired man nodded and Grian walked in front of him. His movements were strong and held purpose, his hands behind his back as they walked to the door.

Grian watched as the Guards of the northern opened the door to the palace. Their spears were shiny in the slow sunlight, a soft green fabric tied to the bottom of the socket of the spear. The shaft was smooth and shiny with wood oils that cost more than the shoes he wore. Their armor made of thick and well carved leather, thin pieces of metal shiny on their leather armor. The doors opened and the warm smell of wood and flowers filled his senses.

The intricate pattern of quartz led his eye to the throne. The king in his late 40’s sat on the quartz throne, Gold and silver  clashing with his mortal skin. He was covered in animal furs and jewels of many, his hands and neck shiny with gold, and his body dark and broody with animal furs. His hair was white and eye dark, the other covered with a scar, he looked wise yet clever.

The king stood out on the white and gold throne. ‘It was not made for him’ Grian thought as he looked into the king's eyes. Soft rugs layered the floor of the throne room, rugs meant for messengers when they spoke their news to his feet or desperate people who came to grovel at his feet for help or money.

The kings face held a look of mischievous and remembrance, full of old stories full of adventure and war. His posture was straight and strong, ready for Grians entrance at any moment.

“Prince of Opus, son of King Menoetius who is a son of King Actor of Opus. We have been expecting you, please come forward.” The king’s voice boomed throughout the room, his hands raised as he spoke. His arms were strong and tan, his voice commanding and strong like a General ready for war and bloodshed. Grian bowed his head and Mumbo fully bowed.

“I thank you on behalf of my father and myself, I’m glad that I can learn from such a respectful king. I’ve seen the kingdom and it's impressive, I wish to rule like you.” Grians words were sweet but not desperate. Respectful, and mindful as this king was known for disliking the desperate and stuck-ups. The king smiled and Grian walked forward, Mumbo walked not too far behind him their steps strong but cautious. He stood in front of the king, his chest buzzing with anxiety.

The five Guards and Six Servants walked behind them, the Guard's steps heavy and the servant's hands full of precious woods and soft gold's. “We have brought gifts out of appreciation and gratitude. Please, take them.” The six Servants placed the precious woods and soft golds on either side of the king's throne, the golds catching the sunlight and the wood’s shining with their expensive oils. “I take the gifts and you with open arms. “The king hummed and looked at Mumbo.

“I see you have broughton a chosen companion,” Mumbo quickly straightened up and kept his eyes facing the floor. “Y-yes, I am Mumbo Jumbo. I hope you do not mind my presence.” He spoke, his voice still formal but strangled and nervous. Grian would have laughed at him, but he was nervous as well, his throat tight as he waited for an answer from the king. “We will be sure to get him a room,” he looked at one of the servant girls near the entrance of the throne room and nodded.

“Now please I have someone I want you to meet.” The king spoke, and two northern servants from the king's court moved two thin and white curtains, these curtains were behind the king to his right side. The curtains where loose and very delicate, long as they laid on the smooth quartz floor. There stood a man,he wore a peplos which was uncommon for a man to wear but it fit him well. He couldn’t see him clearly, still behind the thin curtains as the king spoke. “This is My Son Scar, born from a Godess of the ocean.”

Once the prince stepped out Grian could hear the soft murmurs of his servants and guard fill his ears as they looked upon the demigod. Grian looked at the kings right side to lay his eyes on the prince, and his body shook with loud whispers and old memories as his eyes widened.

‘Him’ his heart spoke and the fates sang, the start of the underworld’s fire flickering in his soul as he stared at the half-Nymph. ‘Him’ it whispered as all the breath in his lungs was taken away. He was the one. Grian could not deny it, the gods had said so.

His tan skin glistened like the ocean on a sunny day, his wonderful green eyes reflected the rivers of the forest, his exquisite curves that shaped like the waves on a beach. His face soft and height tall, giving him a strong yet young look. Grian couldn’t explain it but he was perfect. To every line on his body and wave on his dress. Scar was perfect.

To perfect for Grian. He had a sharp and short-built body with a soft round face. His eyes were as black as the goddess Nyx's domain, his pale skin unkind and red. Face always wrinkled in stress and seriousness. His hair was frail and dark blonde yet framed his face perfectly. But he was not like Scar, of course, he wasn’t. Grian laughed at his own stupidity, Scar was a half-nymph, and he. He was only mortal, and Scar was a demigod.

Scar stood there, the perfect image of a Demigod. Hair as free as his youth, and face free of any stress. His neck was adorned in gold and soft oils. Hair shiny and smooth like a waterfall, Grian wished to touch. The prince smiled at him. His face split like water as he smiled at Grian, his smile as warm as a spring stream. “It is nice to meet you Prince of Opus.” His hands folded over one another as he stood next to his father’s throne. Grian felt like he was on another plane of existence as he stared at the prince, the king's words muffled in his ears as the king talked.

There was a sharp pain on his foot as he looked down. It was Mumbo, his foot digging into his toes, Grian sighed quietly and listen to the king's words. His eyes moving back to Scar, he watched him as Scar talked to a brown-haired woman.

“You will be seeing a lot of him for I will be teaching you both.” Grians head snapped up at those words, “I expect you are tired we shall eat later, so there is no need for a long introduction now. Please let one of my servants take you to your rooms, and your servants and guards will be sleeping in my servant’s sleeping quarters for the next few nights.” Two servants and a guard came from the left side of the throne briskly walking towards Grian’s servants and guards. One servant from the right side of the kings throne, the woman Scar was talking to.

“T-Thank you My King your too kind!” Mumbo bowed yet again, Grian quickly following after, his head tilling into a bow. But his eyes trailing back to Scar as he did so. The prince smiled at Grian for one last time before leaving behind the thin white curtains, a young brown-haired woman stepped in front of him and Mumbo, swiftly bowing. “I am here to show you to your rooms.” Her face was covered in freckles and her eyes were hazel and bright as she looked up at Grian and Mumbo.

She stood up and straighten her posture, “Dinner will be done in two hours, for now, the King and Prince suggest you rest up or look around the palace. You will be here for a year or two, so you might as well get a head start of remembering the palace.” The woman’s words were formal but teasing in a way. “Now follow me. ” The women steps were quick and precise as she led the way, her words filling in the awkward silence. 

“You will be seeing me often for I am the personal servant that was assigned to you, request from the prince.” She had a spark in her eyes as she spoke, her voice full of command, Forcing them to listen to her every word.

“Then shall we have your name?” Grian asked finally regaining consciousness, Mumbo huffed and made eye contact with him as they walked behind the Servant. Mumbo gave him a look of ‘We will talk about that later.’ Grian sighed and gave him a smile asking Mumbo to ‘Give him a break’ and Mumbo rolled his eyes. Grian had won this time.

The servant in the red dress took a quick turn to the right as she started to talk again, “I am Pearl, you shall be seeing me every morning, noon, and night before meals and you can find me in the woman’s servant quarters.” Her accent was heavy in away, different from other northern Greek accents. Pearl stopped at the beginning of a hallway.

Two doors and an archway at the end of the hall, a dead end. “The room on the right is for your chosen companion and the room in the middle Is for you, My prince. The archway is where the beaches are and grass fields are where the soldiers and guards train. More information about your classes and the palace will be discussed over dinner.” She said and bowed, her red dress complementing her dark freckles. Pearls peplos was long and simple, her hair was held back with a piece of ribbon, and seemed to be the head of the servants. But Grian wasn’t sure yet.

“No that will be all, Thank you.” Grian looked at Mumbo questioning him, but he shook his head, “Alright,” She looked at the both of them, her hazel eyes shining with something neither Mumbo nor Grian could put their finger on. “I will grab you two for dinner later.” And walked off, her steps dull under the cold quartz. Grian hummed at the cool sea breeze, the now-setting sun warming his and Mumbo’s faces.

The sky was orange and yellow, leaving a kind hue on the quartz pillers. Mumbo listened to Pearl's steps, making sure she was out of earshot. He turned and stared down at Grian, Mumbo’s face concerned but disappointed as he looked down at Grians tired and nervous face. Mumbo frowned as Grian said nothing, his silence the only answer to Mumbo's unsaid question. Mumbo Huffed again and sighed. Defeat slowly washing over Grians face.

“Now, are you going to explain yourself?” —

(I originally had this idea on @bluiex blog.)

Yes, Grian and Scar have the same kingdoms as Achilles and Patroclus. This looks smaller in here then in my Words Doc lol. I was in a weirdly good mood this week. I’ve got a Scar and Bdubs scene in the works.

‘No Face’ Haley Heynderickx

Words: 2096

[blocksruinedme]

new fic: with the time they had (Limited Life, Jimmy POV, bad boys, flower husbands, keyword: memory)

It's rated T, it's Jimmy POV, it's bad boys and it's flower husbands (3L+E1) and it's complicated. everyone is having a bad time (except joel) and everyone is doing their best. angst with a hopeful ending, heed the tags.

Summary:

Everyone knows Jimmy had a bad memory. So why does he sneak out of bed every night, leaving Joel and Grian behind to pace the roof of the mansion, trying to remember something he can't name? With the weirdness of what happened earlier that day with Grian, Pearl, BigB and Martyn, Jimmy doesn't want to fall asleep and forget it all, like he does every night. Maybe tonight could be different. Scott's arrival throws everything off -- Jimmy knows he should push him away, he confuses Jimmy's thoughts with his smile and the smell of the sea -- but of course he'll let Scott stay, Scott who he's just met but feels like he's known forever.

It's 11.7k, y'all. I was supposed to write one fic a week for limited life, y'all. Episode 5 is looming and I just published the one for episode 2, y'all. It's 11.7k words, y'all. It's about memory and fighting to remember and not knowing what is controlling you and not being able to remember that you don't remember that you remember that you don't remember that you --- oh look, scott's here! he smells like the ocean, scott feels like home and the ocean smells like home but you can't remember why this feels off but everyone knows you have a bad memory.

(just wrote that directly into tumblr at 1:30am and i'm not rereading it)

The always amazing @that-tall-queer-bassist wrote a god damn poem about this fic. I do not know what this story would look like without their input and help and suggestions. The poem is total spoilers for the fic. If you're def not reading the fic, I think the poem would still be lovely!

I have made a worldcloud! Seeing the most common words might give you some of a vibe! (boring words have been removed) ....it's just full of jimmy words, well. it's fun.

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Etho cannot deny that in some way, the ocean is messing with his friends, and that he noticed far too late.

It targets Gem first, long before it goes after anyone else, so subtly it’s almost undetectable. Here’s the way he notices: her little boat is cute, but the mangrove wood on the trim seems old and rotten in some places, murky river water staining the paint that coats the sides. The lighthouse, when built, seems washed out, as if the color has been sucked from the stone that forms it. Etho finds this strange, but refuses to jump to conclusions- Gem is still his little sibling with the same warm smile, so he lets it be for now.

It’s really when the fishing craze begins where Etho starts having doubts about the normalcy of things. Grian is in no way an average person most of the time, but this level of dedication is new and sort of suspicious. It starts with the mending book, which is fine, since he’s decided to avoid villager trading this season. Etho comes over sometimes and jokes about the luck of the sea. Here is where it gets weird, though: when he comes over to make that joke again, Grian turns his head, oh so slowly, expression serious and eyes blank as he replies.

“The ocean will provide the book. It’s the next one, I know it.”

It takes a little more effort than it should for Etho to not turn tail and run. The tambre of his friend’s voice is off-kilter and strange, almost hollow in the way it echoes. And it’s the way he doesn’t say mending, he just says the book- Etho can’t help but feel like he isn’t fishing for enchantments anymore. The air smells of rot and slime. He swallows bile, gives a little uh-huh as a reply, and leaves as soon as he can.

Then there’s Pearl and Beef, obsessed with salmon, of all things. Pearl’s thing seems like a one-off, but Doc tells him that Beef has taken the joke about “big salmon” a little too far, claiming he’s gotten emails from them that have threatened the goat directly. Etho doesn’t really know what to make of that, or Pearl’s salmon head, or the continuous slapping of fish on noteblocks that’s driving him insane.

But he knows this: he’s never really liked fishing before, not for its intended use, anyway. It’s good to have in a death game, but not once has Etho found the monotonous motions of fishing appealing. Grian said it best himself: he used to think fishing was lame. And he did. Does. He thinks it’s lame. He thinks all of this stuff about the river and the boats and the ocean and the salmon and the rot is all really weird and not at all cool. He’s only here to make sure his friends are okay. Not to fish, because he doesn’t want to, just to keep Magic Mountain in line.

But Grian says it again: Etho walked up here and was like ‘this is lame’, now look at him! Etho, in turn, looks at his hands. When did he start fishing? Was the sun always that high in the sky? Did the ocean always sing like that? Was there always a magnetic force to the waves at the shore, pulling him closer with every lap of sea foam? Was the lighthouse always this beautiful?

No, no it wasn’t. He knows this. Something is very, very wrong. There’s something in the water that’s making his friends lose it, and there’s something supernatural that’s trying to pull him in. He needs to get out of here, back to the jungle, with its nice green grass and earthy smells-

To his right, Etho hears his death call. The bell rings, the swan sings, and the water keeps lapping at his feet. It’s too late, he knows it, in the way that his hands are gripping the fishing pole with white knuckles, in the way the lilypads seem to grow under his feet to get him closer to the great deep blue. The music continues, the serenade settling into his bones, giving him an eerie sense of calm.

In the magnetic pull of the moment, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying.

[frozenfrederick]

Excerpt from "Secret of the Skies"

Warnings: contain graphic depictions of violence

Grian’s shoulders rolled back, and he tilted his head towards the sky. He inhaled the crisp, fresh air, the winds smelling of sweet apples and cut grass. He took a step back from the G-Train, with his hands on his hips and his head nodding in approval. The wool train was surprisingly easy to build, now all that was left was to check for sales and restock.

He felt a familiar ache spread throughout his back, but he ignored it. He adjusted the clasp of his elytra, then knelt in front of a chest and scanned through all the items. He peeked through the ones next to it, and grasped onto a bottle of painkillers. He popped two in his mouth, then swallowed them down with a chug of water.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, Grian carried his abundance of shulker boxes to the first train car. He unloaded the items into the chest, extracted the diamonds he found as well. “Pretty good, pretty good,” he muttered to himself and the handful of diamonds he held in his palm. He curled his fingers around them, then tucked them into his inventory.

After all of the cars were stocked up and sorted, Grian spread his elytra wings and took off with the whizz of a few rockets. He looked down upon Boatem, and from his bird’s eye view, he could see everything. He had gotten so used to this view that he had nearly forgotten how breathtaking it could be closer to sunset.

The copper on the Swaggon reflected the dying light, the shadow of the Boatem pole stretched far, and Treeza seemed to loom over the landscape even moreso.

Grian landed on the edge of his mountain, relishing the soft breeze in his hair. He checked his communicator, seeing who was on the server. But no one was on, Grian was alone.

A fit of nervous butterflies flew through his stomach as he shed his elytra at the opportunity. His hands shook with anticipation, with an eager urge to soar high above the clouds, higher than anyone could ever go. He craved the wind rustling through his feathers, not just his hair.

It was very rare that Grian was the only person on the server, it was far too good of a convenience to throw away.

He finished unbuckling his elytra, then took in a deep breath. He grunted as the familiar pain ripped through his back. He felt like something was tearing through his flesh, just for a split second. But, he had gotten used to that kind of pain long ago. To fly, it was worth it.

Crimson wings spread wide either side of him with a shower of feathers. A strong current of wind sweeped Grian off his feet, and with a powerful thrust of his wings, he was in the sky. A large smile crept onto his lips as he soared above the cloudline, high above Boatem, far above the mountains.

A gust of wind knocked him towards the sea, beckoning him closer. He shrugged to himself, then altered his trajectory so he began to fly over the large expanse of ocean.

But, just as he was about a mile from the shoreline, Grian’s communicator beeped at him, blaring loud and red. He didn’t get a chance to check the alert before a swift wind stole the device and sent it tumbling towards the ocean tides.

“Oh shit-” he cursed, his wings flapping to remain steady as the wind picked up speed. He was being torn every which way, hardly able to keep himself from spiraling out of control.

His hair sprawled all across his face, plastered to his skin by the oncoming rainwater pummeled him down towards the raging sea. The tides reached for him, only to fall in their own defeat, then try again.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed before Grian’s eyes, causing him to scream and stumble back in the air. His quick and panicked breath left him feeling dizzy, and he could feel himself sinking down towards the enraged waves. They were gaining height fast, and Grian was losing altitude faster.

Wind shoved him to the right, then yanked him to the left. Thick pellets of rain slapped against his back, soaking through his shirt and making his shoulders shiver.

He willed his wings to propel him upwards, away from the sea waiting to eagerly tear him to shreds. Yet, despite his grueling efforts, the wind won the war. His toes dipped into the water, and the tides grasped his ankles to drag him underneath.

His mouth opened for one last breath before he was fighting for his life underneath the surface. Drowns took all the opportunity, their teeth sinking themselves into Grian’s skin. He screamed in blinding agony, only to lose bubbles of precious air. A trident whizzed past his head, and with eyes wide in panic, Grian struggled for the surface of the water.

Another flash of lightning struck, just bright enough for Grian to see it as he continued to be heaved down to the deep. He couldn’t grasp onto the air soon enough.

His nose betrayed him, so desperate for the release of pressure that it forced him to inhale, letting in all the water he was fighting to keep out. His throat scrabbled to shove the intruder out, but even as Grian keeled over in a coughing fit, there was nothing to expel.

A Drowned slid up to his face, its dead features grinning wildly back at him. It teased him as it drew up a trident, then hissed at his misery and scratched the very point of the trident along Grian’s chest.

The salt within the sea stung like acid was forcing itself into Grian’s body, and the Drowned laughed. It beckoned another creature close, pointing to Grian’s agony, then taking the trident to his chest again. It dug the point into his sternum, twisting it to drill the end in further.

Grian didn’t react. He couldn’t.

His limbs went limp to the water, his burning eyes falling half-lidded before his mind went blank.

The Drowns claimed their prize, long tongues lapping at the dribbling blood from their inflicted wounds. They left him floating limply, retresting and chattering to themselves in their own language of hisses and nonsensical gunts.

But, one thing was clear. They had been victorious.

“Hey, where’s Grian?” Mumbo called as he landed not-so gracefully, checking his communicator for a third time before turning to the man beside him. “It says he’s on the server, but I haven’t seen him at all.”

Scar raised an eyebrow, then stole a glance at Mumbo’s device. “That’s odd,” he replied with a hum of confusion. “Maybe he’s in a cave.” He waved his hand dismissively, then turned towards a chest for a few items.

But, that didn’t seem to settle Mumbo’s racing mind. “What if he’s hurt?”

“Then he would have asked for help,” Scar shrugged, then his elytra wings spread wide and he fired off a rocket. He took off into the sky, soaring down towards the central of Boatem.

Mumbo followed behind him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He continuously checked his device, becoming more and more anxious with each look at the screen. He inhaled a deep breath, then gazed down upon the ground to land. Scar was frozen in place, though, as Mumbo’s feet planted themselves on the dirt firmly. “What’s wro…” he trailed off, his eyes wide with realization at why Scar’s feet refused to buffer.

Boatem was in ruins. The trees were strewn about unorderly, smashed into the sides of buildings or atop roofs. Walls looked bashed in by an unforeseen force, and huge puddles of water flooded the grass, making the ground slippery with thick mud.

Scar took one tiny step towards his Swaggon, hands outstretched but unstable. “What’s happened here?” he whispered, his voice cracking, hands covering his mouth.

“Hurricane,” Mumbo breathed, his eyes blown wide at the complete wreckage of the place. “It had to have been, this is… insane.” A thought crossed his mind, and panic flashed over his face like a slap. “Grian, he was here last night, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Scar answered, sounding distant. “He said he would be working on his alleyway.”

Their heads shifted towards one another, mouths agape and cheeks pale. Then, without a word, Mumbo shot up into the sky. He didn’t even look back to see if Scar was behind him, that was the least of his worries. He soared down towards the coastline, landing sloppily on the edge between the land and the tide. Water lapped at his feet, reaching for him then pulling away at the last moment.

Mumbo’s eyes scanned the visible coastline, his feet taking him along the edge of the ocean. He cupped a hand above his eyes, keeping the sun from impeding his vision. With each step in the sand and fruitless scan, he became more desperate. He threw his head over his shoulder, noticing Scar running the opposite way as him, searching the water for any flashes of a red sweater.

His gaze returned to his own search. Agitated, he took off into the sky. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as all he saw was sand and ocean time and time again. The seconds felt like hours, the wind burned his face as tears did the same to his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine the pain Grian might have gone through, being sucked into the center of the hurricane only to be tossed around like a ragdoll.

He yanked his communicator out of his pocket, but with sweaty, clammy hands, it slipped right through his fingers. He dove down, catching it just before it slapped into the water. He was about to pull back into the sky, when he noticed a distant haze of red.

His heart rate spiked, and he made a quick dash for the red, his hands fumbling around in the water for any signs of the builder he was so desperately searching for. His hands grazed something soft but water-logged, and his fingers snatched it. He dragged it out of the water, his breath hitching in his throat.

It was a scrap of Grian’s sweater, soaking wet and jaggedly torn.

Mumbo cursed under his breath, and he wrung the scrap of fabric of the water. He felt it up to his lips, not caring about the foul taste of seawater that slipped into his mouth. He took a step back towards the shore, ignoring his tears as they dribbled down his face.

He reopened his clenched eyes as he heard the water burble a few feet in front of him. He extracted his sword from his sheathe, glowering down at the Drowned that approached him. He struck it down easily, but just as he was about to turn around, he noticed the same color of scrap fabric stuck to the creature’s claws.

His heart sank down to his feet, and the taste in the back of his throat turned sour. He fixed his helmet over his head, then inhaled a large breath and dove into the water.

Mumbo’s arms pushed against the tides of water swaying him every which way, and he persisted down into the depths. The pressure as he descended crushed his head, making his ears feel like they were gushing blood. His head ached, but he ignored the pain.

Another flash of red caught his eye, and he whirled around to face it. It disappeared behind an outcrop of rock, and Mumbo’s hands shot out to snatch it before it disappeared. It just barely remained in his grasp as he hauled it out into the open where he could see. It was distinctly heavy, and at the weight of it, Mumbo’s heart lifted, even if only for a moment.

He tried his best not to gasp as he saw the full extent of Grian’s limp body. His face was pale and his limbs floated almost ghostly in the water. Mumbo gathered him in his arms, then kicked his legs wildly to propel him to the surface. As soon as his face breached the water, he inhaled multiple large gulps of air, then powered through the tide back towards the shoreline.

The lack of movement from Grian’s body made Mumbo swim even faster, desperate to find any sort of way to save him.

But what if it was too late?

Yet, Grian would have respawned, that was how Hermitcraft was.

Was something wrong with the system?

No, no, Grian has to be alive. There can’t be anything wrong with the system! Mumbo shook himself as he pulled Grian’s body to the shore, safe from the creatures that craved their blood.

Crimson was all he saw. Grian’s red jumper, two large, red wings spreading out wide on the sand, and splatters of red on Mumbo’s own hands.

“Wait, wings?” He did a double-take on the sight of feathers fluttering off a pair of beautiful bird’s wings, but they were just as still and lifeless as the owner.

Mumbo ignored his curiosity and shoved his ear against Grian’s chest, then felt his heart sink when no steady beat greeted him. He retracted his head, then yanked his communicator from his pocket. He cursed when he found it damaged and waterlogged, then placed his hands over Grian’s sternum. He inhaled a deep breath, then pointed his head towards the sky.

“SCAR!” He bellowed as loud as he could possibly muster. “SCAR, I FOUND HIM!”

Within a few moments, a rocket whizzed high above Mumbo, and Scar appeared from behind the clouds. He shot down towards the ground, pulling up just in time to land. He took off towards the two on the sand, falling to his knees as Mumbo began to perform CPR.

“Oh god, oh god,” Scar shoved his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide and cheeks as white as snow. “What do you need me to do?”

“We’ll have to alternate CPR until we get a response, no one else is on right now,” Mumbo explained, his voice rushed and his forehead dripping sweat.

“But what if-”

“We can’t give up on him, Scar, no matter what.” His eyes were hooded, but his gaze was determined.

Even as Mumbo’s arms burned and his legs began to tire from holding him up, he didn’t falter until he nearly collapsed.

They had spent nearly two hours on the shoreline, their arms weak and resolves even weaker.

They were going to give up. They were nearly convinced that something had glitched in the system, that Grian was… lost. But, one single noise caught their attention, and never let it go.

A tiny cough and a little whine had Mumbo and Scar exchanging glances, then the latter took over CPR, a new burst of desperation in his movements.

Grian’s wings were fluttering now, and his fingers were curling in the sand. Mumbo reached to latch onto the builder’s hand, but it shot out before he could touch it. Grian erupted into coughs, and he shoved Scar’s hands off him. He doubled over, hacking and vomiting water all over the sand.

His arms were shaking beyond belief as he attempted to hold himself up, and his wings flapped violently. Sand flew around in a mini-tornado, then Grian collapsed back onto the shore, coughing and gasping for air. He clutched at his chest, which was stuttering as his heart pumped weakly inside.

Grian’s head turned shakily towards Mumbo and Scar, his gaze just slightly peeking at them from behind his wings.

Oh, his wings.

Weak eyes went wide, and he scrambled as best he could away from them, but he couldn’t get very far with unstable limbs.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Mumbo gently reached for him, his hands only a few inches away from him. “You’re safe now, Grian, you’re alright.”

“Yeah, it’s all okay now,” Scar offered his best smile, even as tears dripped down his cheeks. He stood, taking a single step towards the trembling builder.

Grian’s mouth opened to speak, but only a broken sob left his parted lips. He threw himself into Mumbo’s arms, and latched onto Scar’s wrist to yank him down too. He wailed, and his voice was muffled in Mumbo’s shirt. His wings drooped pathetically, and his shoulders shuddered as tears dripped down like a leaky faucet.

“Everything’s okay now,” Mumbo whispered, not just reassuring Grian, but himself as well.

“No, no it’s not,” Grian’s voice cracked, and he pulled away from the tender embrace. “Nothing’s alright, Mumbo.” He shook his head, then stood on wobbly legs and took a step away from them. His wings stretched, then folded behind his back. “I understand if you hate me-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Scar interrupted, standing as well, but not chasing after Grian just yet. The shorter man took another step back, his head falling. “You’re alive, Grian, that’s all we care about.” He offered out his arms again, confusion and concern in his gaze.

“If this is about your wings, Grian, they’re beautiful,” Mumbo joined in with a gentle smile. “Gorgeous, even. They’re unique, they’re you.”

“And we love you, Grian.” Scar took an experimental step forward, but Grian stumbled back. His head remained facing down, and his wings twitched with every graze of wind. “Please, let’s not focus on that right now, though. You need to rest, you need to heal. You’ve been missing for an entire night.”

Grian whimpered, then surrendered once more. He pressed his forehead against Scar’s collarbone, crying, but making no sound. “Don’t tell anyone?”

“Of course, but there’s no need to be ashamed,” Mumbo came up to Scar’s right shoulder, then gently lifted Grian’s head to place a gentle, reassuring kiss on his forehead. “You’re magnificent.”

“Let’s get you home to rest,” Scar offered, and Grian nodded absent-mindedly. He swept the smaller man into his arms, careful of his wings, then began to walk back towards Boatem.

For once, Grian felt safe in his wings.

[fountainpenguin]

"Being a bow-wow is hard to face... I want to be part of the human race! It's a dog's life!"

---

Well, a year ago I started a 3rd Life / Traffic Life series fanfic, and I'm ready to share Chapter 1! Dog's Life is a fanmade Life series 'fic about a bunch of digital gremlins playing a death game, as they do.

The gimmick this season is that every time they kill a mob - or a player - they start taking on the traits of whatever it is they killed. If you like to watch pixelated menaces yeet each other off cliffs [Scar], weaponize buckets of salmon [Tango], devise complex strats to steal a ravager's soul [Etho], stress over an AFK companion [Grian], or just speedrun insanity [Mumbo], this could be the 'fic for you!

---

Chapter 1 - “Sparks (Impulse, Grian)”

Read on AO3

^ Warnings and tags available on AO3

---

Dog's Life follows some resource gathering and PvP adventures, but it's focused less on the gameplay and more on worldbuilding, character quirks, and introspection. It's been a delight to string together and I hope you guys like it too!

Chapter 1 is Impulse-centric with some Grian POV mixed in. Our story begins with Impulse growing increasingly nervous as he tumbles through the void, awaiting his server invite... and waits, and waits...

💚  💛  ❤️

Dog's Life - Chapter 1 - First 1,000 words under the cut

Original 3rd Life series concept designed by Grian and played out by the server members; consider checking it out on YouTube if you haven't seen it yet :)

[ Grian: impulse ]

[ Grian: what kind of candles do you want in your summoning circle? ]

[ Grian: the new life series ]

[ ImpulseSV: lol ]

[ ImpulseSV: Ocean mist is good! ]

[ ImpulseSV: And bamboo :) ]

Impulse isn't breathing. You wouldn't either, if you were the one flying through the void. Breathing here will fill your lungs with icy spikes. Yeah, he was technically coded as a demon, his mortal flesh warm with the taste of life, but breathing here still wouldn't be a good idea. It's smarter to free-fall in an exhale. Smarter to suck the empty air through your nostrils (if at all).

The void smells like frost burn, gunpowder, and the gooey poison of cave spiders all mixed together and baked in a cake of death. It's a small improvement over the steamy sulfur of the Nether, but neither one is a cake you should be eating. While the void isn't alive, sometimes Impulse hears it huffing at him. If you skim low enough, you can hear saliva crackle as it licks its lips and rumbles, hungry for its prey. It wants you. More than any lover every will, more than any ravager or vex or creeper, and it will crush your lungs if you so much as grant it breath. Impulse has died to it a dozen times, but this won't be one of those days.

It's a wall. It divides this world from other worlds. It will gobble you up and leave a petrified husk behind. Your unmoving body will float a few moments in empty space until the void spits out your code again beside a bed. Falling out of this world, plunging into the depths of the void, is one of the fastest deaths there is (right up there with a bad fall that snipes all ten of your hearts in one blow)… but it's the death that always takes the longest to regenerate from. You never hit the ground. There is no sudden snap. It just devours you. It's dangerous and beautiful and Impulse loves it for its mysteries. He wants to grip it in his hands. Run thick streams of it through his fingers. Immerse himself in danger and delight.

The void will kill him if he spends much longer down here. Even if he holds his breath. And he can't fault it for that. When he's down to the last threads of durability on his elytra, he really shouldn't be skimming this low in the inky darkness. It's either been 15 minutes or an hour of waiting for Grian's call… Both are indistinguishable, the rocket count the only indication that time exists down here under the world at all.

Yet some kind of yearning in his code demands he play the waiting game here… Something raw, something primal, buried deep within his data core.

Question: Why?

Impulse blasts another rocket, arcing upwards. Years of practice keep him from bashing his head straight into the bedrock ceiling, but… Eee, that squeal he made when scraping close wasn't exactly the most manly thing he'd ever done. Skizz would get a giggle out of it and wax poetic about how much he loves those little shrieks, but Skizz isn't here right now. He's off in the mines hunting down a little extra coal. Though he didn't bump his head, Impulse rubs it anyway and gives the bedrock a little kick.

"Mean," he mutters to himself. He should probably stay up here. There's more oxygen near the bedrock. The cold doesn't bite as much. But he dips his elytra and ducks away from the ceiling anyway… mostly because he doesn't trust himself enough not to slip up and punch it with his fist. With ungloved hands, punching it is sure to result in damaged knuckles. His hunger haunches aren't full enough to offer natural regen after that.

Goosebumps blister across his skin. The yawning void stays empty underneath him. And Impulse, so often steady in his faith… begins to falter. What's going on? He made a schedule. Has recording for the new Life Series already started without him? Maybe Grian told him the wrong date. Or…

Maybe, in spite of last week's chat messages about candles on the Hermitcraft server… Grian forgot that one of his players needs a special invitation to join a new world for the first time. As a demon, it's built inside his code. He needs a circle. His name chanted thrice…

No. Grian won't forget him.

Impulse swoops into the blackness and pulls up like a hummingbird. He juggles double rockets in his offhand. Okay. Okay. His breath slithers out in a silver cloud. Every inhale stabs his lungs. The void is freezing- really freezing. Do people realize that? It's already eating away his skin like maggots and he hasn't even touched the worst of it. Or is he just crazy? Yeah! Maybe he's gone crazy from spending 15 minutes to an hour straight down here, doing nothing but fly in aimless circles, awaiting a portal that may never come…

The void feels blacker here in the Overworld, somehow, than it does when you're in the End. It engulfs him in a cloak, and Impulse cannot breathe. The wings of his elytra strain at his shoulder muscles. Oh. He's too low. They're trying to pull away from him, like the pockets flapping from his cargo shorts. The wings are weaving in and out of his code. That's not unusual this close to the void. The void is weird like that. It wants to rip him into pieces. It wants to drag him closer. It wants to gobble him up.

Paf! goes half a heart of damage. Paf! Paf!

Ow. Impulse whips his mind back from its wanderings, throwing all his energy into his wing muscles. His elytra strain, but with the help of a rocket, he sails a little higher. His hearts stop flickering. He presses a hand against his chest. Okay… He can still feel six of them beating. He's okay.

Grian won't forget about him. He won't.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

Last Minute

A collection of final thoughts, emotions, and actions

-----------------------------------

Giddy excitement turned sharply into panic. Jimmy fell, feeling any chances of survival slip through his fingers.

He had just less than an hour still! It’s not fair! It’s always him! Why can’t it have been Scar or Etho or someone else this time?

Then panic dulls into acceptance. It’s always the same. 

---

It’s a lovely night to die. The stars shine above him and Skizz can smell the salty sea air, even up in Windsor. 

He knows the boys will be upset about it, but it has to be done. Twenty minutes won’t get him far, and a half hour will be more useful to Etho than to him. It’s practical. 

He hears Etho swing the axe. Not a bad way to go.

---

Joel thinks he’s hyperventilating. Blood is rushing in his ears and he can’t bloody hear anything except a clock ticking. He can’t look at his time, it’ll just drive him more mad. His heart’s about to bust out his ribcage.

He presses back against his wood pillar. There’s some comfort. And there’s Grian, on Bread Bridge, crafting something. More TNT, he hopes.

It won’t work. It’s pointless. But he needs--

---

There’s some sorta fight going on. Bdubs just knew Scar had wanted to spawn camp poor Grian and then he’d killed Cleo and Cleo’d killed him which was pretty funny. 

He stood back, firing at Grian as he tried to retreat past the wall. Little risky for ol’ Bdubs, amount of time he had, but what is he if not a little reckless? This is nothing for him.

He turns to say something to Cleo, but a chill down his spine stops him. He glances upwards. 

---

It’s over before it began. 13 minutes. Tango doesn’t have the time to check his clock but he feels it ticking down. 

Scar is right there, no one would begrudge him a little revenge, and the way Scar’s shouting he’s almost dead. Well, Tango’s almost dead too. It’s a race to the end. One he has to believe he won’t win.

Tango’s foot slips or the dirt shifts or there’s a sudden drop. He falls, not even a dramatic distance. Over before it began. 

---

There’s panic and shock and anger mixing inside Scar. How could Grian when his back was turned? You can’t do that to a man! 

Well, it’s Grian. It’s something he would do. Scar dumps Mrs Puffy and runs. He can make it. It isn’t too late. 

It is too late. At least Grian will have to look at him when he dies. 

---

What’s there to lose? Cleo charges in, ten minutes left if she’s generous with rounding up. At the very least she can try to kill Grian. Get time back. Get revenge for her team.

It’s almost there. But there’s backup and suddenly she’s the one outnumbered. But she tries.

She’s almost got it. Almost out. For a moment she’s certain she’s got it. 

---

BigB had been running on borrowed time. He was dead already.

It’s going to be Scott’s arrow or his sword or his axe that does him in, BigB knows. He should’ve died when Martyn killed him behind the border. Should’ve let the timer run out or let Pearl kill him for extra time. He panicked. He’s dead already. 

Still, he swims across the river. For what, he doesn’t know. Scott’ll get him. He knows that. He’s dead already. But he’s still panicking. 

---

It’s a long fall from the top of the sky, but not long enough for Grian to unscramble his brain. He needs a bucket of water or an enderpearl or the ocean or...or a boat for crying out loud, anything! Not like this!

A pool of water comes into view. Bad Boy Manor, they were above their manor! Grian twists as he falls, trying to aim himself at the water, but the cobblestone rushes up too quick to try.

God, Tim was going to have a proper go at him.

---

It was kinda hopeless. Etho was trying. It was Scott and Martyn coming at him and Pearl was somewhere on the ground and Etho was afloat on the wreck of Bread Bridge trying to shoot them down.

They just kept coming back up to get a shot on him. They wouldn’t fall. Maybe he should go, but no. There’s time to be had. That hunger shoots through him. He’s under an hour. He needs their time. 

It’s an arrow and a slip and he’s falling. 

---

Her lungs burn. Pearl had been so close to getting Martyn, so close. She glances around for an escape but there’s none.

Just Scott, bloodthirsty as them all. It isn’t fair. She tries to swim to the surface, then tries to inhale water quickly. If she drowns, no one gets her time. She’ll be that petty. 

Then a sharp pain and the water is clouded by blood. Her blood. Hardly stood a chance. 

---

Scott panicked at first, but accepted it quickly.

It was Martyn. Bloodthirsty and time-hungry but it was Martyn. And Scott had already won. Martyn deserved it. 

He watched Impulse running and grinned with bloodied teeth. He wouldn’t get far like that. 

---

Not like this. Not like this. Impulse had made it so far. Not like this. 

He has no armor on and no weapons and no time. He’d made it so far. His boys had tried so hard and they had done so much for any of them to win. Can’t let them down like this.

Well, not win. Top three. He can claim that, at least.

---

The hour goes by slowly. Martyn knows exactly what they’re waiting on and he won’t give it to them. Grian had grieved and Scott had resigned himself and Pearl had fought but Martyn? Well, he won’t do jackshit. 

He spends some time at the Coral Isles, has a little victory dance. That was fun. Climbs up Skynet and laughs so hard he gets dizzy. Wanders the lengths of the sky bridges. Visits the frogs. Rummages through chests and takes shinies. Whatever. It’s a game. He’s not going to be upset at winning!

The final seconds tick down as he lays on top of Bad Boy Manor watching the clouds. He has a last bite of bread before his clock runs up. Not a bad way to end it.