#grian smells like the ocean

[solargeist]

this is sooo Grian and the Watchers core

[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

[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]

I made a proper cover image for my favorite passion project 'fic! Here's a proper Tumblr post to go with it.

---

Dog's Life - 3rd Life SMP Fan-Season

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Longfic - In progress - Updates Tuesdays

💚 More Pixels Imperfect series 'fics

💜 Worldbuilding posts + Art posts

---

Synopsis: Dog's Life is a 3rd Life SMP fan-season (Drafted before Secret Life) that balances goofy Minecraft gameplay with server hub meta. Life Series shenanigans and interpersonal drama abound in this world of mob hybrids, anarchy players, soul crystals, fantasy politics, glitches, dragons, moral dilemmas, past trauma, and more.

This season's mechanic allows players to steal the traits of the mob they most recently killed. Every player is also assigned a quarry: a fellow player they're allowed to kill to boost themselves up a life. If you kill your quarry while on Green, you're bumped up to Purple life.

Of course, playing in a world of glitchy servers and experimental mods is just asking for trouble. It doesn't take long to realize something is very wrong with this game... And with anarchy players closing in around the "hidden" server hub of New Star Station, it looks like life off-server may not be peaceful much longer, either...

If this 'fic interests you, check it out on AO3!

Also, everyone gets their own character arc! Some of my favorites include:

- Sometimes you lose things you'll never get back and you're gonna have to deal. Sorry about your chronic glitches and/or your irreversible isekai situation; get well soon - Assuming the worst of others will only cause you heartbreak. Hey clock duo? Get some counseling - You can't be best friends with everyone, but everyone can be the best friend to someone. Including nonexistent museum curators or demon robots with a special interest in rustic houses - Setting boundaries is healthy and cool even if you're scared of offending your friends. Especially if they insist on you possessing someone's body - Captain status isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes you CAN get what you're sure you want... but at what cost? 💔

Enjoy! (First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

impulseSV - Pre-Game

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.

[Full 'fic on AO3]

[all54321]

I’ve decided to turn the Father Spore Spy AU one shots into a full book. I’ll still make one shots/snippets, but I’ll also be making full chapters.

For story updates, I’ll post the link to AO3 chapter and then put the chapter under the cut here, since each chapter should be longer then the one shots.

Scar stares at the pair, surprised, of course that’s nothing compared to the shock on their faces. It makes sense, considering how this whole time Mumbo and Grian didn’t seem like they expected to win. He found it strange for them to put so much effort into this but not expect to win. Yet here they are now with Mumbo as their newly elected mayor.

Scar watches Mumbo give his speech for a while, before deciding to leave. They’re going to be busy for a while, he’ll congratulate them later. He could use a walk anyways. Scar easily slips past the crowd, none of them paying him much attention.

It doesn’t take him too long to reach where the town borders a forest, to reach one of the few trails in it. It’s a nice day out, at the very least. He lets his mind wander as he follows the familiar path, pondering what to do next. He spent so much time trying to win the election, he’s not sure what to do next.

Scar gets abruptly pulled from his thoughts when he trips over a root, barely managing to catch himself from falling. He frowns as he looks around, he was so certain he knew where he was going, but he has no idea where he is now. If he continues straight he should reach the end of the island and reorient himself that way.

Scar continues forwards, looking around for any sign of the initial “trail,” or the ocean, as he goes. He’s so distracted trying to find his bearings, he doesn’t notice the sagging earth until he steps on it. It immediately gives in under his weight, and he falls with a shout. He yells again in pain when he lands.

It wasn’t that far of a drop and the ground wasn’t that hard, but he definitely didn’t land correctly. Scar pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing lightly. He looks around the place he fell into, noticing that it’s some kind of small cave. There are patches of mushrooms everywhere, of all different kinds. Scar only recognizes some of them.

He looks up, sighing at the distance. It wasn’t too long of a fall, but definitely far enough that he can’t climb out again. Scar looks to the only other direction he can go, into the complete darkness. He really doesn’t like his options here. There’s an unfortunately slim chance that any of his friends will find him here, so waiting isn’t a hopeful outlook. Walking farther into a dark cave also doesn’t sound like a good idea.

Scar carefully stands up, wincing again, he really hopes he didn’t get too hurt from the fall. As he contemplates what to do, he notices the earthy scent to the air. It’s incredibly strong and… thick? Something tells Scar not to breath it in, but… he doesn’t understand why, it smells rather pleasant. There is something off about it, something he can’t place.

As he tries to figure it out, the dark tunnel starts glowing. Scar stares in surprise as some of the mushrooms along the walls and floor start glowing in a beautiful blue color. It feels inviting.

Come to us.

Scar starts walking before he can even think if this is a good idea or not. The glow is very enticing after all. He follows the mushrooms in a near complete daze. It only shatters when he notices a fork in the path. The part of him insisting that something is wrong here urges him to go down the pitch black path. Scar considers listening to it this time, but… he turns to look down the other path, faintly lit by the mushrooms. Why go through the darkness when he can continue to follow the mushrooms? Especially with how they encourage him to follow them.

Scar continues to follow them, fully trusting in whatever beckons him closer. It’s not much farther when he reaches another dead end, but this time the whole room is covered in mushrooms and mycelium. Mushrooms bigger then Scar has ever seen before. He looks around in amazement. He walks more into the room, looking around at everything, faintly illuminated with the few glowing mushrooms.

Touch me.

He curiously reaches a hand out, resting it against one of the biggest mushrooms. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before. Scar covers his mouth as he coughs, fully snapping out of his daze and realizing how dense the air is. He needs to find open air again. He pulls his hand back and turns around.

Scar doesn’t even take a full step before he starts to feel extremely dizzy. He staggers before falling to the ground, which is a lot softer then what he fell on earlier. He should probably feel more panic, but something is whispering in his head, something comforting.

When Scar opens his eyes again, he can only feel ease. He can also feel a lot more then just himself. He sits up, only feeling slightly sore now. The mushrooms are no longer glowing, but he can see perfectly fine in the dark. He feels a purring in his mind and turns to the collection of giant and… strange mushrooms.

“You called me here,” he murmurs, somewhat awed.

He feels some kind of hum in his very being, he takes that for confirmation.

“What do you want from me?”

Flickers of mushrooms and mycelium spreading through and out of the forest flash through his mind.

His blinks the imagines out of his eyes, “you want me to help spread mycelium?”

Another affirmative hum.

Scar takes a moment to think about that. Takes a moment to think of why he didn’t immediately think of that. He carefully stands up, fully. “Of course I’ll help. I’ll help you spread your reach across the entire island.”

He feels a shiver throughout his entire body as the mycelium hums again. Something tingly, but also pleasant. Scar really wants to do what this thing wants, he feels like only good things will come from this.

“I’ll begin now,” Scar murmurs.

[lunar-writes-things]

11) Eggs & Beacon

CW// BLOOD, DEATH, RESPAWN MECHANICS (Near the end)

Y/n woke up in Impulse's arms in their base. 

To be honest, they had no recollection of what had happened within the last 24 hours other than Pearl waking them up and grian offering a space where they could build a townhouse but that was it. 

"What the-" Y/n was cut off by Impulse's groan and him hugging them closer 

"Go back to sleep," He whined and Y/n couldn't help but swoon. His voice was husky and deep and he held Y/n as if his life depended on it. 

"Mhmm, no can do Puddin' We have work to do," Y/n murmured yet still laid back down and buried their face in his chest. A faint spicy spell of redstone lingered on him and the beginnings of the sweet smell of candy. 

"Nooo," he whined a smile etching on his face and Y/n playfully pushed him away with a laugh before sitting up and swinging their legs over the edge of the bed 

"Come on," They smiled and when they turned to look at Impulse, Y/n had learned he was already staring with a look in his eyes that made Y/n want to blush and hide "Get dressed, you have to work on that factory." 

"You don't like laying on my bare skin?" He teased and laughed when Y/n threw his shirt at him before he tugged it on "Anyways, I'm gonna take a shower. Will you be okay?" 

"I should be fine, but will you remind me how we got into this position?" Y/n asked, "I remember nothing from the time I got back from Grian's." 

"Mhmm, You were doing laundry for hermits when you caught me watching you. You came over, we talked and I offered to help you. You agreed and I ended up sleeping over after we finished." Impulse explained, "I can stay a little longer and make breakfast if you're not feeling well." 

"No, I'm fine. You sleep shirtless because you feel like it'll choke you in your sleep right?" Impulse nodded and Y/n sighed "Right, sorry it's been a bit since we've had a sleepover." 

"Don't worry. And hey, take it easy today, yesterday was one heck of a time for you Y/n." Impulse said and took her hand to give it a squeeze 

"Will, do." Y/n smiled and squeezed back "I do have to do something big but other than that I'm just gonna go material digging." 

"Be safe, Y/n," He smiled and left the tiny house and Y/n turned to her kitchen to make themselves some breakfast, eggs. 

After they ate, Y/n took a shower and got dressed and ready for the day. When they were done, Y/n grabbed some supplies while checking off a mental checklist. 

-Rockets. Check

-a spare bed to respawn. check

-their sword. Check

-some golden carrots. Check

-wither skulls. Check

-soul sand. Check

-their armor. Check

You know, stuff to kill the wither. 

Okay, so maybe they told Impulse they would take it easy today but Y/n had this planned out for a while now and there was no stopping them once they had something planned. As Y/n walked to open the door a knock echoed from the other side

"Y/n?" The voice asked 

"Scar?" Y/n asked and swung the door open to find the man standing there and grinning with that adorable goofy smile Y/n loved "Hi! What can I do for you?" 

"I was wondering if you'd wanna fight a wither together?" Scar asked sheepishly "I tend to die a lot and I figured it would be nice to have some backup." 

"Yeah!" Y/n smiled and walked out "I was actually just about to do that. I need a beacon for my build, a few actually for what I want to do but those can wait." 

"Oh!" Scar grinned "Well do you have a place in mind or-" 

"I do actually," Y/n smiled "I know Grian and you had a place but I scouted out this place a while back." 

"Alright what do you have in mind?" Scar asked 

A few hours later, Y/n and scar were on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. There was a quiet wind brushing their hair in their face when facing the wrong direction but the setting sun gave them a golden shine. 

"We can set up here." Y/n smiled and swam under the water to create an air bubble to place a bed and a safe place to respawn 

Meanwhile, Scar set up the soul sand, molding the ghostly sand underneath his palms in the familiar shape that will allow the wither skulls to be placed perfectly to summon the deadly mob. After he put two of the heads he put the last one aside for Y/n to place while he got ready and put on all his armor and got his weapons. 

"Ready Scar?" Said man jumped when his name was called while he was tightening the straps of his chestplate and he watched Y/n come out of the water, helmet glowing with the aqua affinity enchantment and their boots lighting up with depth strider as they came out from the water "Don't forget to set your spawn, just in case." 

"Alright! give me a quick second to finish up." He mumbled and struggled with the last strap, even moving his hair to get it

"Here," Scar felt a shiver go down his spine as fingers that weren't his brushed against his spine to tighten the last strap "Is that okay?" 

Y/n's murmured as if they talked to loud then they would hut him, but scar could care less as their breath hit the nape of his exposed neck. He felt his muscles tense as Y/n's fingers gently dragged down the sides where his armor didn't touch. 

"Scar?" They asked 

"yeah-" He squeaked out before clearing his throat "Yeah- yeah that's- yeah thats fine. I'm good." 

Y/n then nodded and moved to grab the last skull from off the ground to place on the middle of the soul sand. With nimble fingers, Y/n placed the last skull and quickly braced themselves for the explosion of life that the wither gives off. 

and oh, did that wither blow Y/n into Scar's chest, who had luckily also braced himself with his sword behind him. 

And soon their match started, scar shooting arrows at the flaming bones that floated and moved while Y/n took to the skies, getting as close as possible to hit the wither without getting hit themselves. The first fight was easy, the two of them easily dodging and weaving with minimal damage. 

the second wither, however, scar had gotten hit by a skull. His skin immediately absorbed the hit and the wither affect that came with it and took him from full health to one more heart according to his comms. 

"I have to regen!" Scar called out and grabbed some golden carrots from out of his inventory satchel "Will you be okay?" 

"I'll be fine!" Y/n smiled back at him and the setting sun made a halo around their body that Scar immediately regretted looking into because now he had the sun in his eyes

Scar crawled his way to the beach shore, where the water was lapping at the sand. His beautiful suit was now torn, bloody, and wet from the beaches of the island and from him being hit in the face with a wither skull that started to decay his skin and face. 

as he regenerated he tried to help keep the speeding flaming skulls away by shooting arrows but to no avail. He was too far away. And he watched as Y/n fought the beast. 

"You go down just like Holy Mary, Y/n! Y/n!" Scar watched as the angel known as Y/n fought the wither for him, their hair whipping in the wind and the absolute power that radiated off of them made Scar want to bow down at their feet despite them looking to be on their last legs and about to fall to the ground "Your beauty never ever scared me! Y/n! Y/N!"

His last cry was panicked as Y/n was hit one last time and Y/n began falling to the ground. He scrambled to catch them in time and when he did, they were practically dust already and his comm pinged

<Y/n'sHarmony> withered away

"NOOOO!" Scar screamed as Y/n's corpse dusted away into nothing and their armor fell with a large clang and their inventory satchel exploded into nothingness

"I'm right here!" Y/n smiled, albeit forced, and picked their things and stuffed it into their inventory "You big baby, Come on, it has a few hits left!" 

Y/n charged into battle and Scar fumbled around for a healing potion and took a swig of it, immediately healing up and getting to his feet and charging the stupid thing with arrows. He had no idea how Y/n wasn't in excruciating pain right now, wither deaths hurt a lot when people respawn. Deaths in general hurt when people respawn. It was one of the many reasons people tried to avoid them. 

Y/n had gotten the final blow and the second nether star erupted from the charred bones. Scar caught it and gave it to them, cradling the shiny rock before gently handing it to Y/n who, like the other star, wrapped it in spare leather and tied it with string to protect it from anything that may crack it in their inventory satchel. 

"Thanks for your help Scar," Y/n smiled at him before they crumpled to the ground with a yelp 

"Are you okay?!" Scar asked, frantic 

"Mmhm- Just- Just tired." Y/n grimaced "Holy crap, Those hurt like a-" 

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?" a voice screeched 

"Whoops!"

Masterlist

[melon-wing]

Hi :D

I got a prompt for you that can go from cute and fluffy to cute and horny, depending on how you want to write it:

Gridoc, Massage, maaaybe Pirate AU if you are up for it (I am still a sucker for that AU)

Like I told you on discord, not a real massage, but whatever :D This is set some time after Dread and Despair. Read back on the Pirate AU here. ~*~ Doc stood at the beach right by the sea, looking out at the waves, the last rays of the setting sun reflecting off the water. He could feel the wind softly caressing his hair, bringing with it the smell of the ocean, the feeling of being home.

And he stood there and waited.

He waited until the sun disappeared and the light of the stars got a chance to be seen. And he still waited. Ren would roll his eyes at Doc, but he’d smile fondly at the same time. His brother was always far too impatient and would have never gone to the length that Doc had. It was only the third night he had been waiting after all. His breath hitched slightly as he looked at the sea. If someone didn’t know what to look for they might not have noticed, but Doc did. He saw the way the waves seemed to move forward further, staying on the beach longer as if they yearned to come closer to something - to someone.

“It’s dangerous to come here alone.”

Doc smiled at the voice and turned around, looking at Grian standing in the soft sands just a few steps in front of him. He was still wearing his navy uniform, but a dark cloak covered most of it, a hood pulled over his blonde hair.

“I’m not afraid.”

“I could have sent the whole navy after you when the letter arrived.”

Doc laughed softly and shook his head. “You wouldn’t. You never do. You don’t want them to catch me.”

Grian’s mouth turned to a thin line, caught in a dilemma of admitting that Doc was right and defending his honour as a part of the navy. He opted to say nothing and Doc didn’t make him.

“I needed to see you. I was worried”, Doc said softly.

Some of the tension seemed to fade from Grian’s body. Doc felt like he could hear the water come even closer, but he didn’t look back to confirm his feeling.

“I’m doing well. Being back on active duty helps. You really shouldn’t contact me, Doc.”

“I trust you.” His voice was filled with so much honesty it even surprised himself. But when he was alone with Grian he felt like he didn’t need to hide anymore. Hiding his emotions had almost cost him everything before.

There was a small smile on Grian’s face for a second, but it gave way quickly to a worried expression. “Don’t. I’m just human… Well, mostly human. I make mistakes. What if anybody had gotten ahold of the letter?”

“I’m capable of defending myself, Grian.” Doc stepped forward, half expecting Grian to step back, but he didn’t and Doc felt emboldened by it, taking a hold of Grian’s hand. The sound of the waves moving against the shore sped up, as if the sea mirrored Grian’s heartbeat. “You’re worth taking the risk. You’re worth taking any risk.”

Grian looked up at him. His eyes seemingly reflected the stars of the night sky, just like the ocean itself, deep and full of emotion. “You know we shouldn’t meet up like this.”

“And yet you’re here, aren’t you”, Doc said as he moved his fingers gently over Grian’s hand, softly caressing the rough skin there. “We both know the risk and we’re both here.”

Doc felt like he could get lost in those eyes, get pulled in and drown. He felt like back when the siren had put him under the spell, only this time he willingly went down, getting lost in the sensation.

“Join me, Grian.”

It wasn’t the first time he had made this offer. If it had been up to him he would have never let Grian leave after rescuing him. And like all the other times Grian shook his head, avoiding Doc’s soft and longing gaze, head turned to the side. The hood of his cloak was casting a shadow over his eyes.

“I can’t. I need to stay.”

“They’ll hurt you. When they find out who you are.”

“You mean what I am”, Grian corrected him, his eyes becoming unbelievably sad. Doc raised his free hand, pulling down the hood of the cloak to be able to glance into those deep blue eyes again. He let his hand move down, putting it on Grian’s cheek, gently turning his head so they looked at one another once more.

“No. Who you are. You’re not a thing, no matter the blood running through your veins. You’re a person. You’re Grian.”

Grian gave him a little smile, though it still felt too sad.

“Please, Grian. Leave the navy. You don’t even have to join me. I have connections. I can find a place for you where they won’t bother you.”

He knew he had no chance. They both knew. Grian didn’t even need to answer him.

“Why did you call me here, Doc? I don’t think you’d take this risk just to ask me to join you again.”

Doc hesitated. He knew what he was going to say wouldn’t be something Grian wanted to hear, but he had to.

“Bdubs is moving again. He met up with that boy from the navy. Sam.”

Doc could feel Grian tense up under his touch immediately. The ocean behind him no longer seemed calm, the waves suddenly almost crashing into the shore, droplets of water spraying them.

“My contacts have told me that he’s planning something. I got a map of his planned route. Try to avoid it, yes?”

Grian nodded, not speaking, breathing heavily. And as Doc pulled back a bit to get out the map he had spoken off he noticed Grian starting to shake. And it only got worse as Doc completely let go to hand it to him. He stared at the map, hands trembling, before folding it up and putting it into his pocket.

“Grian. I’m here for you. He won’t hurt you again. I promise.”

Grian only nodded. He seemed so small again under the burden of the past and Doc wished there was something he could do to turn back time. When he looked at Doc again he seemed hesitant, opening his mouth and taking a moment before finally speaking up.

“Hold me. Please, just hold me.”

And Doc did. Pulling Grian into his arms, breathing softly, listening to the sound of the waves calming down again. He could feel Grian’s racing pulse slow down when he started tracing circles onto Grian’s back, slowly easing the tension out of his muscles.

He wished this moment could last forever. He wished he could take Grian with him. He wished they could have each other’s backs instead of standing on opposite sides. But none of his wishes were granted. And the moment they just shared was soon interrupted.

“Doc!”

Doc looked up as he heard Ren’s voice from beyond the beach. His hold on Grian tightened slightly. He wasn’t ready to go. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“The navy is on the move. We have to leave.”

Reluctantly Doc let go of Grian, his hands still lingering on the other's arms for a moment.

“Be careful. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

Grian smiled and nodded, never returning the sentiment as always. He just raised his head and put a chaste kiss onto Doc’s cheek before fully stepping out of the embrace.

“Leave. They can’t see us together.”

“I’ll be back”, Doc said as he started backing away slowly, eyes still on Grian standing in front of the ocean, the moon illuminating his body from behind. “In a month. Meet me at this beach again in a month. Please.”

Grian smiled softly and nodded and only then did Doc move to the treeline where Ren was waiting. He could see lanterns in the distance. Probably a patrol moving around to check the area.

He heaved a sigh, casting one last longing look in Grian’s direction.

“Stay safe”, he whispered softly into the night before finally turning around.

[thathermitweirdo]

The Silver Sun - Chapter One

Chapter notes: This chapter was published April 21st, 2021. It’s been over a year, so the first chapter of this book is not up to date with my current level of writing. So, if you read the first chapter and think you won’t be interested with the story, then maybe wait and check out a couple more chapters first :)

—

Fire.

Glistening, silver flames.

They tore through the world, everything in the roaring fire’s path was enveloped by its burning glory. Destruction and screams of terror echoed through the world, alongside the crackling of flames.

His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins.

His legs were burning, throbbing with pain from running through the crumbling server, trying to find some way to escape.

He was running from that thing.

That thing that destroyed it all.

Xisuma didn't have enough time to examine where he was, he only ran. He didn't know what he was running from, or what was causing this server to fall to ashes, but X knew that he couldn't stop running.

He didn't know how he got here.

He didn't know where he was.

The only thing he knew is that he had to get out of the server.

He had to get out, before they find him.

But where would he go?

How would he escape?

Xisuma's scattered and panicked thoughts were interrupted, a voice calling through the flames.

"You can't run from us, there's nowhere left to go."

He didn't look back, the Brit continuing to sprint down the stone path, hope beginning to fill his mind as a wooden dock came into view, just a bit further down the street.

Xisuma ran down the cobblestone steps, the rotting wood underneath his feet beginning to creak and moan as he stepped onto the docks. The smell of fire and death was countered by the scent of the ocean, the only place that wasn't being swallowed by flames was the docks that X was sprinting down.

With no where else to run, Xisuma rushed down the pier to try and flee from the silver fires and the thing that was chasing him. He froze at the ending the platform, glancing over his shoulder at the figures that walked through the flames, slowly beginning to approach him.

"You can make this easy, Taurtis. Stop running from the inevitable." a tall figure said as they moved to the front of the crowd, slowly walking down the pier.

'Taurtis...?' Xisuma thought, perplexed at the name. He'd never heard it before. His eyes glanced down at the calm waters, X's reflection unfamiliar.

He didn't see himself, no purple armor or helmet to hide his face. His skin was tan, and he was wearing a blue shirt with black pants and suspenders, as well as a pair of red and blue checkered headphones.

What was going on?

"Grian is still out there!" Xisuma found himself saying, the name was finally something that he managed to recognize.

"He may have left Evo, but he's still my friend! He'll come back for me, for all of us!"

"Taurtis, the Silver Sun awaits you, and we shall welcome you with with open arms. I will free you from the darkness that blinds you, just like I freed your friends." The figure said as they motioned towards the players that stood behind them.

They all seemed to be wearing some sort of black mask that covered their eyes, with a large silver eye in the center. The silver eye seemed to behave as if it were real, they would blink and were able to look around, but all the eyes were locked onto Xisuma, the eyes unwavering as they waited for commands from the tall figure.

"You didn't free them from anything, you're forcing them to obey you!" Xisuma, or rather, Taurtis snapped in response, the figure frowning at his anger.

"I'm saving them from the lies and misery that the other watchers have, like I have with so many servers before this one. I rescue you poor, misguided players from pain and suffering. You may not see it yet, but I am what a true watcher should be!"

As they finished speaking, they spread out their two pairs of glistening silver wings, their feathers gleaming in the sunlight. One pair was much smaller than the other two massive wings, normally tucked away underneath the larger pair. Xisuma couldn't make out their facial features, but he could see a silver halo above the watcher's head. They wore a long black cloak which was littered with silver eyes, all seemed to be staring at Xisuma.

He turned around, Xisuma trying to see if he could swim through the ocean to safety, but the sun caught his attention. As it set over the horizon, the fiery yellow glow had almost been completely overtaken with a dull silver, making it almost identical to the moon.

"What pity," the watcher spoke with a silky voice as they stepped closer, placing their hand on Taurtis' shoulder. "It seems as though that time has run out for your little server."

They snapped their fingers together, a girl stepping forward. She had long wavy hair, the color was a grey-like brown. The girl wore a dark grey sweatshirt, with one of the strange masks over her eyes.

"Pearl.." Taurtis mumbled with a saddened tone, the girl unresponsive to his voice. In her hands rested another mask, Pearl taking a knee and bowing her head as she presented it to the watcher.

"Now, stay still, Taurtis.." the watcher said as they took the mask from the girl's hands, turning to place it over Xisuma's eyes.

"I would like to be the first to welcome you to the Silver Sun."

☼

"Do you think he's okay?"

"I dunno, I just found him asleep on the ground. I got no clue what happened, or what he's doing laying here.."

"Well hurry and get him inside the town hall! We can't have X laying in the middle of the shopping district!"

The Brit in purple armor let a quiet groan slip from between his lips, the voices that had been talking to one another suddenly going silent in shock. Xisuma tried to sit up, but he was gently pushed back down against the soft grass below him.

"Stay down, 'Suma." A familiar voice spoke, their words accented with a southern tone. "Struglin' will only make it worse, just try and rest."

The admin couldn't find the words to argue with the southerner, speaking seemed so far out of his grasp. X's thoughts were blurred and distorted, it was hard to tell what was real or what was from his strange dream.

His head felt like it had been split open, the Brit groaning as the voices of hermits began to reach his ears. Xisuma could tell that the voices belonged to Joe, False, Tango, and Bdubs, yet he couldn't hear what they were saying.

The admin didn't have the strength to open his eyes, but Xisuma could feel his body being lifted from the soft embrace of the blades of grass below him. "I've got a bed in my office," Bdubs' voice called, "We can set X down there until Stress gets here with the healing potions."

Xisuma only groaned with a weary voice, everything blurry and distorted. He was carried into the town hall by the four other hermits, the group carefully setting him onto the soft bed sheets. Even with his eyes closed, it felt like the room was spinning.

"Stop running from us, Taurtis.."

The watcher's voice echoed in Xisuma's head, brief flashes and glimpses of what he had saw running through his mind.

"Grian is still out there, he may have left Evo, but he's still my friend!"

"Xisuma?!"

"He looks like he's having a seizure or something!"

The faint voices of his friends called out to the admin, but he could barely hear them. His head was swarming with the things that he had seen and heard.

"It seems as though that time has run out for your little server.."

"Xisuma? Xisuma can you hear us? Wake up!"

Their voices felt so far away, Xisuma could feel himself beginning to drift off to sleep, like he was being drowned in a feeling of dullness and quiet.

"I would like to be the first to welcome you to the Silver Sun."

Xisuma couldn't fight the urge to let go, and allow himself to slip into the peaceful escape of unconsciousness.

☼

"Hello, Xisuma."

A voice called through the nothingness, the thick sheet of darkness cold and void of light. Suddenly, a silver glow appeared, the radiating illumination too powerful for Xisuma to look at directly. He raised his arm to block the gleam, the admin squinting his eyes as he noticed a figure stepping through the light.

"You...you're that watcher I saw!" The Brit exclaimed as the radiance died down, his eyes widening as he studied the watcher from his vision.

Their appearance was still the same from when Xisuma saw them in his dream of Evo, but he could clearly make out their face. Their mask was silver, shaped like a half-sun, with a black symbol on the center. It was vaguely familiar to Xisuma, but he couldn't remember where he had seen it before. Their raven black hair had glitter-like specks of silver that gleamed and shimmered in the light that the watcher seemed to radiate.

They stepped forward, studying the admin without saying a word, Xisuma's legs quivering at the tall being of magic. He had heard of watchers, but he had never seen one before.

The watcher extended a hand, placing it on the side of Xisuma's helmet. They dragged their pale fingers along the headgear that the Brit wore, letting a disapproving yet quiet "Hm," escape from between their lips. Raising their other hand, the watcher flicked their wrist through the air, Xisuma's helmet magically tugging itself off his head.

The headgear dropped to the ground, but there was no sound upon impact. Xisuma's eyes whipped from his helmet to the watcher, but his body wouldn't move. Horror shone through the admin's eyes, but the watcher still didn't speak.

The watcher gently placed their hand on Xisuma's chin, their thumb resting on his cheek. They firmly held the terrified admin's chin to keep him in place, but it didn't hurt, the watcher gentle while sternly holding him in place.

"My dear asset, what have the wretched players done to you?" They asked, their voice barely a whisper, the watcher finally speaking to Xisuma after studying him in silence. Her voice sounded like a mother's, the watcher's words soft spoken and kind. They sounded like a female, but it was hard to tell with the mask that covered her eyes.

She let go of the admin's chin, control slowly returning to the Brit's limbs. He felt weaker, Xisuma barely able to stay on his feet. With a wave of her hand, the watcher gently pulled X to the ground, forcing him to his knees.

"A-asset?" Xisuma mumbled in question, rubbing the back of his head as he looked up at the watcher. "What do you mean by 'asset'?"

Ignoring Xisuma's question, she shook her head, clicking her tongue before she spoke. "I suppose it's my own fault. I've been ignoring Hermitcraft for quite some time now. Maybe if I came sooner, I could have saved your server."

"I don't understand, what are you on about?" Xisuma snapped, his patience growing thin with the vague answers that he was getting. The watcher didn't seem to like his commanding tone, her soft smile turning to an irritated frown.

"It is none of your concern, not anymore." She smiled again, Xisuma's legs beginning to tremble as he slowly got to his feet.

"I'm only here to help Hermitcraft, to help you."

"Based on that vision with Taurtis, I doubt it." Xisuma retaliated, the watcher scoffing.

"That server wouldn't listen, they wouldn't bring themselves to understand what good could come, you saw that vision to understand why you must listen to me. Hermitcraft will fall into ruin if the players have no one to lead them." She said quietly, her voice pained, almost as if it had hurt to destroy that server.

But it didn't.

Xisuma knew that, she wasn't as sweet or kind as her voice sounded, it was all a lie. X saw the watcher, he saw her destroy a server and enslave its players. She wasn't hesitant or saddened to burn that world to the ground, meaning she wouldn't be hesitant to do the same to hermitcraft.

"Who are you?!" Xisuma demanded to know. The watcher only smiled, her voice kind as she spoke.

"I am the leader of the Silver Sun, a group that liberates players from the servers that have them trapped. I have come to free hermitcraft from the bonds that hold you back from true greatness."

"We don't need to be 'liberated'! Hermitcraft is perfect the way it is, and watchers aren't welcomed!" Xisuma spoke out, despite the fear that caused his gut to churn. He thought that he sounded confident as he spoke, but the watcher laughed as if his voice had been shaking.

"You players think that, but you don't know what's good for you. The other watchers think that it's best to interfere as little as possible, but I know what's right. You need leadership, you need a guiding light to show you the true path to happiness and success." She said while radiating with a silver light. She spoke as if Xisuma was a child that didn't understand what she was doing. That only fueled Xisuma's rage.

"You destroyed that server and took its players away from their home! I know that not all the watchers are great people, but you seem like the worst of them all!"

A scowl grew across the watcher's face, a cold shiver running down Xisuma's spine. He instantly began to regret ever speaking.

"That's enough out of you, Voidling." The watcher spat as they opened their silver wings, slowly circling Xisuma, who was once again frozen in place.

"I'm giving you a chance to hand over your server to me, and no one will be harmed. I showed you that little vision of Evo so you would know what will happen if you fight against me.."

Xisuma shook his head. "No, n-no! You can't just take over Hermitcraft!" He exclaimed with a terrified voice, The watcher straightened their posture, towering over the horrified admin.

"I suggest you step down before blood is on your hands. It would be smarter to give your server to me, rather than let it be destroyed."

Xisuma straightened his posture, trying not to show the fear that made his legs shake nervously. "I'm not giving up hermitcraft. You can try, but there's nothing you can do to take the server from me!"

The watcher frowned at him, clicking their tongue to make a disapproving 'tsk' noise. "You are a stubborn one, Xisumavoid. But I'm afraid that I can easily infiltrate your server, even if watchers are blocked. I'll be coming soon to spread my light, then you and your friends will be free."

"NO!" Xisuma screamed as he quickly sat upright in bed, the British admin realizing that the empty void had disappeared. The watcher was gone, returning Xisuma back to hermitcraft.

X studied the room that he was in, trying to steady his fast and panicked breathing. Bdubs' office had been emptied of all furniture and decorations, the only thing that was in the blank room was a bed, a small table, and a chest that sat by the door.

The admin glanced out the window from his bed, the silver moon full as it shone in the night sky. Xisuma took off his headgear, setting down the helmet on the bedside table next to him.

X ran his hand through his fluffy chestnut hair, horrified by the things that he had seen. The admin couldn't begin to describe the sick feeling in his gut, dreadfully recalling the words that the watcher had said.

His eyes were drawn back towards the window, Xisuma flinching as he spotted his reflection, Taurtis staring back at him. The Brit quickly rubbed his eyes, glancing at the glass once more.

"You're going crazy, X.." He said to his reflection, Taurtis had been replaced with the admin's tired appearance.

Pulling himself out of bed, Xisuma held his head as he walked over to the chest by the door. He opened the storage box, colorful potions resting in the crate. He pulled out a healing potion, guzzling down the sweet liquid to help his aching body.

X let out a sigh of relief as warmth spread through his limbs, the armored male setting down the empty bottle on the nightstand. He grabbed his helmet that sat next to the potion glass, adjusting the headgear as he thought to himself.

"Whatever that watcher meant, I can't let them get into the server.." he mumbled aloud, Xisuma stopping himself from saying anymore as he heard the doorknob turn.

"Oh, howdy 'Suma!" Joe smiled as he pushed open the door, entering the makeshift medical station.

"What are you doing up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come check to see how you're doin'. You gave us all a scare when we found you unconscious in the shopping district." Joe explained with a hint of exhaustion in his accented voice, Xisuma rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to think.

"I..don't remember what happened.." he said, confused at the blank spot in his memory. Joe opened the chest next to the door, pulling out a mangled elytra.m

"Your elytra was destroyed when we found you, so maybe you fell out of the sky? It was pretty early when Bdubs found you, so we were guessing that you were up getting the server ready for the day. Does that sound about right?"

"I...I guess.." Xisuma said with hesitation, the admin taking a seat on the end of his bed. He wasn't too focused on Joe, his mind was still racing about 'The silver sun'.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face, X's disorganized thoughts scattering as he looked up at the southerner, a frown across Joe's face.

"You feelin' alright, Xisuma? I haven't seen you this distracted in a long time."

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm fine." Xisuma muttered quickly, but Joe wasn't satisfied with that answer.

"Something on your mind?" He asked while taking a seat next to the admin, X biting his lip.

"I'm just..tired. That's all." He lied. Joe clearly didn't believe the British male, but he just nodded his head, standing up to leave the room.

"Alrighty, I'll be off then." He said with a wave, shutting the door as he left the office. Xisuma's warm smile faded as he was out of sight, his eyes looking down at the floor as he continued to think to himself.

"I can't tell anyone about this," X said to himself in the quiet of the town hall. "Whatever that watcher is planning, I have to stop it without the other hermits. I can't put them in danger. No matter what, they can't know."

[zero-cycle]

Legacies

The Players have never had a particularly good memory.

Oh, they remember the Builders just fine.Their gigantic castles and worlds are right there, after all, unable to be overlooked. Who hasn’t heard of Grian’s mansion, forever doomed to be unfinished? Or Etho’s cave, the oldest building in all of MInecraft who’s owner still lives? Who hasn’t been told of the beauty of Rivendell, Mezelea or the Ocean Empire and their rulers?

Hermitcraft’s worlds are tourist attractions, spaces for hundreds of people to live later. The Empires have their own population, their citizens telling the tales of their kind rulers and architects. Even the people from the Esempee talk about their benevolent king Eret and how much they built for them.

Similar to them are the Redstoners, their contributions consisting of new machines and farms or entertainment. Their names are whispered among the knowledgeable when they build doors or iron farms or have to time one of their contraptions.

Fighters do not have the benefit of giant monuments to their names but neither do they have trouble being remembered. The marks they leave aren’t a new creative use of blocks or a roof for Players to stay under. Instead, their legacies are the smell of explosions and blood in the air. They were the first to discover how to make end crystals and they started to warp the code around them, all just to give them a small advantage.

Their stories are about the bloody paths they carved through peaceful and war-torn servers. They win tournaments and are crowned with bloody laurels. Everybody in all of MInecraft fears Technoblade. Most Players will never willingly step foot on the battleground called “2b2t” and that for good reasons. The deadly trio of George, Sapnap and Dream is a legend among all fighter communities.

The Parkourers are similar to them. Only their laurels are less blood-soaked because the void kills cleanly and quickly. They tell stories about gods instead. Even though they never mention names, green is their color of luck and prosperity.

The Players don’t remember the people in the shadows.

The Runners are notorious for…well, mostly for being non-notorious. They keep to the shadows, always there but never in the spotlight. They win tourneys and take the crowns home with no fanfare. They fight but they’re not cruel or gloating, instead preferring to leave as fast as they came. Their buildings are often small, practical and they’re fast but not particularly creative with them. They hit jumps only the best parkourers can but never join competitions, they can do advanced redstone yet understand none of it and they’re good at everything but rarely shine with excellence.

The Players don’t remember them.

But the worlds do.

The Players in the big servers like Hypixel might have never heard of Feinberg but the non-player habitants of the wider worlds know different. There’s thousands of blocks he’s placed, hundreds of villagers he’s traded with but that doesn’t matter to a tiny plains biome on an even smaller world. The only thing that matters to the beehive that lives there is the flowers Feinberg carefully cultivated for them. the roof cover he built for them that keeps them safe from every thunder and wind.

Neither have they heard of Silverr, tirelessly working day to day to get better with no thoughts about recognition. Twitch Rivals might have brought him notoriety, might have made some Players aware of him but the villagers on a far away world don’t even know tournaments like that exist. They only know about the polite young man who must have spent days cutting down wood for them. It supplies the village with enough firewood to survive the winter for several years.

Most people don’t know about K4yfour. They are strange, quite unlike normal Players. Nobody would think of them as particularly influential either. They’re wrong, of course. Their tactics have saved a hundred runners and a thousand worlds and even more lives. It’s not an accomplishment they can display on the wall like trophies but it’s visible in every Runner that still runs, in every world they save.

Others might look at Couriway like a hero for his PvP skills but the worlds know better. There are a thousand of them out there that nobody else would have rescued. Nobody else would have even attempted. But Couriway has not earned his crown with blood on his hands and so he goes, steadily, and saves the world, over and over and over.

And the Universe smiles down on a tiny server, tucked at the edges of MInecraft, where mismatched buildings stand next to each other, where scattered blocks ruin the landscape of the nether, where laughter fills the air and plans to do the impossible are made.

They will not be remembered, but they don’t care. They are happy, here at the edge of the universe, far away from any competition or recognition.

They are home.