#hermitcraft hurt comfort

[the-introverted-writer-for-life]

Whumpcember Day 1: Broken bones + Day 26: Falling

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP (MCYT)

Word count: 785

Summary: Grian falls off his season 10 base, and breaks his arm.

“Let's see what profits we have in here, shall we?” Grian said to no one in particular as he pushed open the spruce doors of his red sand and mushroom shop.

As predicted, the red sand had no sales.

“Mushroom?”

The regular mushroom blocks again had no sales, but he found a nice surprise when he opened the mushroom stem chest.

He whistled. “Sold out. Right! Back to the mushroom farm.” Grabbing the diamonds, he slammed the lid of the chest shut and stuffed his profits away in his inventory, before exiting the shop and taking off back to his base.

The flight wasn't too long, thankfully, and he got to see a lot of the other Hermit's bases through taking the quickest route: Ren’s armadillo scuteball arena, False’s huge circular structure, and then the bright pink leaves of the cherry trees on top Magic Mountain, the huge hill around which seven of them had built. After circling a little way around, he saw the familiar blue and red houses sticking out from the mountainside - and the harbour and docks and barn beside it.

Ooo, there was a window design he had seen a few days ago. He could try it on the barn…

No, Grian told himself firmly. There will be other times.

Oh, but it would look so lovely…

Grian moaned at himself. He was going to be unable to rest until he'd tried it out. It would only take a minute, and then he could farm as much mushroom as he needed.

Grabbing some deepslate slabs and a couple of spruce stairs, he used the pre-existing scaffolding he'd used to block in the windows to climb up and start working on the top. One slab here… a stair there…

Soon, he was able to step back and see how it looked.

He hadn't been wrong. The design fitted perfectly, but with the empty window, there was something he didn't like.

It didn't take him long to work out that the thing that was bugging him was on the interior - he'd somehow managed to place a stair wrong on the big metal beam that ran across the width of the barn high up, forming the lowest level of the rafters. It would only take a second! Then he'd farm the mushroom, rest assured, but he couldn't leave such a blatant error unattended for long.

He flew in through the open window and straight up to the beam, not bothering to scaffold up. Trying to keep his balance, he swung his pickaxe, breaking the stair that was placed wrong. It dropped, and he picked it up and crouched down to slot it back in. He didn't care too much about if he fell - there was water beneath him, so he didn't even need to use his wings if he didn't want to.

Of course, with many things like this, thoughts like these are exactly what cause accidents. Grian was no longer worried about balance, and as he slotted the stair back in the right way, he could feel himself tipping - but realised it too late.

He fell.

His gaze whipped to the ground, and there was water beneath him, wasn't there?

Oh void no there isn't I'm too far over I'm gonna hit the sidewalk -

A sickening crunch tore through the air at the same time as a wave of agony bloomed in Grian's right arm. He had landed on it - hard.

Why didn't he use his wings?

Well this isn't good.

The pain wasn't necessarily anything he hadn't felt before, but it still hurt. A lot.

Then he found himself slipping… or was that just his imagination?

Then he was falling.

And all of a sudden he was wet and he had fallen into the water and he couldn't swim with one arm out of action and he couldn't keep himself up and he was going to drown and have the worst respawn ever and he -

Strong arms grasped his outstretched hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled him up, out of the water, into the air, the beautiful air, oh, the air…

“Grian! Grian, G! What the heck!?”

“Hey, G… you're ok, alright? I've got you…”

He was back on solid ground. Somehow. And though his arm felt like it might drop off, and his stomach felt ready to empty the entire contents of the universe out into the world, he was ok. He was gonna be ok.

“Pearl…”

“Hey! G, I'm here. We're gonna get you all patched up, ok?”

Grian gave a tiny nod, too exhausted to do anything else. He felt Pearl begin to shift his position, but his brain decided it would be better to black out.

So he did.

[isjasz]

[Day 174]

You aren't alone

In these trying times I decided to not do angst tdy actually we need some fluff

They get hugs🫂

[tamblerdraws]

Hermit a day - day 4 - Keralis

I yoinked a screenshot off of google (hopefully that’s oki)

also I saw other people drawing him with braids so I also drew braids

[khoirkid]

Thousands More - IsArt sketches in collaboration with @amethystfairy1

[star-captain]

When Grian is swept off the streets, held hostage to be used as bait, he's left no choice but to wait for HotGuy's help... as much as he hates to.

Another ddvau fanfic! Once again shout out to @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11 for their wicked cool au!

I just like putting these guys in Situations

[paradoxlemonade]

Like a Flower in Bloom; chapter 1/3

Summary: Doc Monster is a many things: he's a tinkerer, a college graduate, a creeper hybrid, and a husband to his wonderful spouse, Ren. Most importantly, he is a father. And he would do anything to make his trans daughter Scarlet happy. Even if it means becoming a Buttercup Scout troop leader and herding a trio of middle school girls.

This is my @mcytblraufest fic, made in collaboration with my artist @watchmewhirl and beta-read my @raivaughn. You can find the masterpost for the art here.

Warnings: minor transphobia

Ao3: Here!

Next ; Last

---

Violence does not solve very many problems. It usually just creates newer, more complicated problems. As a rational person, Doc understands this. 

As an animal, however, he wants the Buttercup Scout troop leader in front of him to be eaten by hyenas.

The meeting wrapped up a few minutes ago and most of the girls and parents already filtered out the door. Doc told Scarlet, his daughter, to hang behind and talk with the other girls. She's more than happy to do so, chatting away with the Symmetry twins. 

He has a few concerns about how she was repeatedly sidelined during the badge event and wanted to ask about that. She hadn't yet joined the troop and was only there for a preliminary meeting, yes, but the adults could have stood to be a bit more welcoming to new members. 

Which led to him hunting down the troop leader, tapping her on the shoulder, and asking about her meeting policies. Which led to her trying not to sneer and just dismissing him out of hand.

Ms. Reflecta Symmetry doesn't bother to face him as she gathers up tubes of decorating frosting and glitter sprinkles and returns them to their original packaging. “I'm busy. Could you please wait a moment?”

Doc shakes his head. “I just have a question about how meetings tend to go, and then I'll be out of your hair. Nothing big; it’ll be quick.” 

Reflecta drops the decorating supplies back onto the camp table with unnecessary force and finally turns to face him. She gives him a plastic, simpering smile. “I think I can help you! Were you here to check out our troop and think about joining?”

“...Yes, that's correct.” Something about the way she carries herself sets Doc's nerves on edge. “Scarlet wanted to be a part of the group that was piping frosting onto the sugar cookies. But every time she asked you if she could switch groups, she got ignored or told to wait her turn, but she never got to be a part of the piping group. It seemed like she was… forgotten during the group changes.”

How does he phrase this diplomatically? 

“I was wondering if this was how most of your meetings run, or if you were just distracted. There were a lot of girls to keep from making messes, after all.” He's had long days before. It would be nice if that were the case here; this was the only close option for a troop in the area.

“Uh-huh.” Reflecta’s arms cross, fingers tapping away. She switches her expression to an equally-fake one of hyperbolic sympathy. “You see, I'm just not certain that your… child is a good fit for our troop. I’m concerned that they won’t have very much fun; we have a specific culture here. I'm sure you understand?” With that, she spins on her heel and continues packing up the materials from the meeting into an oversized patchwork tote bag.

Doc stands there for a moment, frozen stiff. “Excuse me?” What exactly did she mean by that? He steps to her side, working himself back into her line of sight even as she works and attempts to ignore him. “I think I misunderstand you. Could you explain what you mean?”

 She glances over to give him another apologetic look, but her lip is curled back just enough to show teeth. “It just takes so many resources for a Buttercup Scout troop to make sure all girls involved have an enriching experience. We've just had a few new girls join, so I'll need our treasurer to reassess the budget. Perhaps you should look into some other organizations in the area? I'm sure there's plenty that they would like elsewhere.”

Doc grits his teeth and wills himself to silence. Budget problems and personality are two different issues. That leaves one conclusion: Ms. Symmetry is full of shit. She just doesn't want Scarlet to join the troop. He'd hoped her earlier curt attitude was just her being busy with other kids—even gave her an out to claim that—but that doesn't seem to be the case.

He clears his throat. “Sure, yeah, I understand.” Before she can get another word in to affirm his agreement, Doc barrels on: “It's just a little surprising to hear, considering how well Scarlet seemed to get along with the other girls. The advertisement your troop posted on Facebook the other week also seemed so welcoming; was that scheduled in advance before your means were clear?”

Reflecta's smile remains, though the bottom of her eye twitches ever so slightly. “Something like that.” It's her turn not to give Doc a chance to respond as she jerks to face the remaining girls in the room. “False! True! Get your things. We're leaving.”

The two blonde girls that Scarlet is talking to perk up at the same time, like prairie dogs out of a burrow. Aside from the longer hair and extremely thick glasses that nearly resemble goggles they both wore, they were spitting images of Reflecta. One just nods without emoting much, while the other brightens and responds, “Yes, ma’am!”

The smiley one clambers to her feet, buttercup guide book clutched to her chest. She waves farewell and says something else before bounding over to her mother's side. The stoic one bumps a silent shoulder against Scarlet’s and follows a moment later.

“Ah, Scarlet,” Doc calls out. “You come on as well. We finished speaking, so it's time to go home.”

She nods and scoops up her cat plushie backpack.“Okie-dokie, dad!” Once it’s on her back and she gets her crutches situated, she’s by his side as he guides her out the door.

“Did you have a nice conversation with the twins?” Doc asks, a bit louder than necessary in the hopes that Scarlet won’t hear Reflecta hissing ‘I don’t want to hear about you two talking to that one again’ to her daughters. He directs Scarlet along a little bit faster.

“Yeah, they were really nice to me!” There’s a bounce in her step as she chatters away. “True didn’t talk very much, but that’s okay since False talked enough for both of them. I think she talks when she’s nervous and when she’s comfortable. And then she asked about my Jellie backpack, and—”

Doc ushers her out the doors of the community center, but his eyes can’t help but fall to the trans flag button on the strap of her bag. 

Truth was, a gnawing sense of dread hollowed out his chest when she insisted at age ten that she was a girl.

It’s an ugly thing to think, but it’s not because Doc doesn’t want her to be herself. The world can be mean, and the people in it even meaner; Scarlet suffering unnecessarily because she’s different from her peers became a regular staple of his stress dreams.

He hugged her worried, helped her pick out a name worried, went shopping for new girl clothes worried, met with her school teachers and the principal worried—

Today he drove her to a Buttercup Scout troop meeting worried.

Beyond the obvious of names and clothes and telling family members, the one thing Scarlet wanted was to become a Buttercup Scout.

Doc pulls his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the truck while they walk. Scarlet takes that as a cue to rush ahead and climb inside without assistance—door open, crutches against door, Jellie bag tossed into the seat next to hers, hands on the seat for stability, one foot on the running board, push off and lean forward, wiggle into a seated position, pull the crutches in and close the door. She has it down to a science at this point, though Doc will occasionally still offer her help if she’s having a bad pain day. He doesn’t have to worry much about Scarlet hurting herself.

And yet, now he has to drive her home, worried about disappointing and hurting her.

The air inside the truck hits him like a wall of heat when he opens the door, though he pays it little mind as he slides into the driver’s seat and puts the keys into the ignition. Until the air conditioning fully kicks in, he cracks the back windows just a touch.

A glance in the rear view mirror shows Scarlet looking out the window with a slowly slipping happy mask.

He’s pulling out of the parking lot before he can bring himself to say anything. “Did… you have fun at the meeting?” 

“Oh! Yeah, I did! False and True and me were talking, and they—”

“No, not near the end of the meeting, or after it.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens minutely. He makes sure to take the next turn carefully in spite of that. “I meant all of it—the badge work, the other girls, the adults—how do you feel?”

Another stolen look, and this time she’s pulling her knees to her chest.

“I mean… the girls were nice to me.”

He’s always been worried about her peers ostracizing her. Their parents hadn’t even come up on his radar.

Doc presses down on a sigh. “I’m sorry that troop wasn’t what you were expecting.”

“It’s fine!” she blurts out. “They’re fine! I want to be a Buttercup Scout!”

His heart twists. “I know you do, and we’re trying. It’s just… maybe we should keep our options open, sweetie.” The gentle comfort in his voice sounds fake, even to himself.

“What? No, no!” She leans forward in her seat to grip the passenger headrest. “I’ll make it work! It'll be fine!”

“Scarlet.” He's firm, but so tired, tired, tired. There's no way he's letting his daughter put herself in a situation where she regularly has to interact with transphobes. “I know you want to be a Buttercup Scout, but tonight wasn't fun for you, and it wasn't fun for me to watch you be upset. We'll keep looking, okay?”

Despite herself, she sniffles and hiccups. “But, but, there aren't any other troops in the area that work for us. You said that! I heard you and Papa talking about it!”

Fuck. He didn't think she overheard that conversation. She was supposed to be asleep on the couch after a movie, he and Ren sequestered in the kitchen to discuss in hushed voices.

 “All the others are too far, or they meet when I have physical therapy, or they aren't accepting new members, or, or—” The words seem to flood out of her before abruptly stopping with a sharp inhale of breath and another wet hiccup. “I just want to do what all the other girls get to do. I don't understand why I can't.”

With a grimace, Doc changes lanes and turns into the parking lot of a fast food joint. This isn't a driving conversation. 

Once stopped, he gets out of the driver's seat and opens the back. He slides in next to Scarlet and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, mein Schatzi…”

She sniffles and presses her side into the hug. “S’ not even that bad. I dunno why I'm crying.” 

Doc picks up the Jellie plush from where it fell into the floorboards. Sure, it may have a few notebooks in it, but it's still a plushie and Scarlet sure seems to need one. He sets it on her lap and she has it squeezed to her chest in a blink. 

“This is something you really wanted for a long time. It's normal to be upset when stuff doesn't work out.”

“I wanted it to work out.”

“I know, I know.” He runs a hand through her hair. “Your papa and I will see what we can do, okay?”

“But—” She sniffles again. “I thought that—”

“I know what we said,” Doc murmurs. “We’re going to look into other options so you can be a Buttercup Scout. I cannot make any promises, but I can promise to try.”

She looks up at him with wounded eyes, shining with unshed glass tears. It seems that this cry was a long time coming. “O-oh.” Another sniffle.

She twists to the side and he's suddenly engulfed in a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

He holds her close.

“Always.”

[melllohigrace]

meet me in the afterglow

Brothers of the youngest son, Their suffering will have just begun. Both bear the curse of a past myth, And fail to save their father's gift. The oldest will gain a great reward, But the youngest will fail to be adored. ... in which tango and jimmy grow up over the years at camp half-blood together.

ranchers centric pjo au! chapter 1 of 7 4588 words here on ao3

[honeylashofficial]

Like Embers | an Imp and Skizz Oneshot

Firewatch AU - original story by @quaranmine

Skizz Week Prompt #2: Hybrid / AU (@skizzlemanweek)

Fire and friendship are not as incomparable as one may think. It's insistent, it's beautiful, and it marks you for life, whether you care to acknowledge it or not. In the way that unconditional love leaves scorch-marks across ones heart; like how embers remain, rekindle, and remind us of the raw power we possess between our very own fingertips. When wielded wisely, nothing compares.

Hurt / comfort, fluff, more fluff, unspecified injury (but no blood :D)

–+– 3,228 words –+–

November 14th, 1989

“Come on, we could totally make it happen.”

“Seriously, I’m telling you. It will not work.”

“You worried about the equipment?”

“Yes!”

“You’re just no fun.” Skizz paused in the dust, taking his time to lean backwards in a satisfying stretch. He sighed contentedly as the base of his spine popped, loosening again. His keychain of keys jangled in his hoodie pocket.

Beside him, Impulse released his own sigh, shaking his head in finality. “It’s not like they’ll want the footage anyways. There’s gonna be way too much background noise. You’d barely even hear us.”

“What if that’s the intrigue though,” Skizz pointed out, walking onward once more. “The Imp and Skizz radio segment, Forest Edition! I think I’m really on to something here.”

“I think you’re on something,” Impulse muttered, matching him step for step.

“Never. Tis simply my nature to explore the world on a more finite level,” Skizz defended himself curtly, dramatic English accent and all.

The forest crowded in on all sides of their path, silently encouraging them to hush and enjoy the nature around them. But being quiet was something neither of the two men had ever been good at, even from young ages. And it only got worse when they were in the same room. Or, in this case, in the same forest. It was a brisk late morning up in the mountains as they followed a well-trodden path towards a supposed lake. They hadn’t caught sight of it quite yet, but they’d been informed by a ranger a day ago that this was the perfect time to go and see it. Admittedly, Impulse was not nearly as enthralled about this whole hiking business as Skizz was. They were doing it together though, and Skizz had also promised to cook meals for the next two weeks once they got back to the duplex. His skills with a pan had finally convinced Impulse to agree on the weekend trip.

“Alright Shakespeare. Then maybe you could finally explore Dead Poet Society so we can get that out of the way?”

Skizz made a face at the comment, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “They still want us to do that?”

“It’s extremely popular with the kiddies, says the studio,” Impulse shrugged.

Skizz shot him a look.

“Okay, fine,” Impulse hunched slightly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “I really want to do it still. Did you at least read some of the book?”

“No,” Skizz shook his head. A fraction of guilt poked at his innards upon the look his friend returned. He sidestepped a fallen branch on the path before putting his own hands in his hoodie pocket. “I told you already. I don’t read.”

“You’re missing out, man,” Impulse insisted quietly.

“What if I just go watch it and say I did?” Skizz countered smartly. Even as he said it, he knew what the response would be.

“No,” Impulse declared shortly. “I would know.”

Skizz smirked, grinning at him the way only he was allowed to. “Because?” He prodded annoyingly.

Impulse glared despite no heat radiating from the look. He pursed his lips, refusing to say it.

“Say it!” Skizz encouraged. There was a taunt in his voice, but it was a part of a language only they spoke. It was an undertone only distinguishable over years and years of growing familiar with one another. And it frequently rolled off both of their tongues in a familial way. Neither of them knew what they would do if that sweet playful banter were to cease.

Impulse averted his gaze, refusing to satisfy Skizz. It was a joke at this point, and one that Impulse played often. It never got old though, and Skizz never grew tired of it. If anything, he’d only gotten more persistent over the years.

“Say it!”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Now that’s what I like to- woah!”

The solid terrain disappeared from under Skizz’s feet. His eyes darted back to the path ahead, only to find that he’d misjudged it entirely. The path turned sharply, leading way to steep forest hills and rocky shelves. He gasped as he found no form of grip beneath his body, sinking into the angle and getting tossed head over heels. The world spun dizzyingly out of control as his weight was thrown into the ground over and over again. Blurry smears of color skidded past him before with a jolt, everything stopped at once.

There were stars at the edge of Skizz’s vision. He blinked slowly, trying to bring them into focus. There were parts of his body that ached and some parts that he couldn’t feel at all. If he concentrated really hard, he could manage to hear something beyond the ringing that filled his ears. Impulse was shouting his name distantly. How far down had he fallen? Should he get up, or wait for his buddy?

A minute or so later, his ears began to settle again. The sounds of trees and wind welcomed him back, and the fog in his head lifted just a tad. He needed to get up. He needed to get back to Impulse —get back to the designated path. But something heavy was laying on top of him… He lifted his head to see what it was, but nothing greeted his gaze.

“Skizz! Stupid bra- Skizz! Where are you?”

The voice was getting louder. Skizz could hear his friend pushing recklessly through the underbrush. There was sliding and skidding mixed with half hearted curses before another holler split the air. His tone was unmasked; betraying exactly what he felt. And a part of Skizz couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“I’m here,” he responded, pulling his elbows underneath him in order to push upward. As soon as he did though, a bolt of lightning rocketed through his backside. He just barely composed his tongue, dropping into the dirt again and holding back a pained yelp. Teeth gritted, he muttered furiously under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

Impulse appeared a moment later, his cheeks bright red with windburn. He took deep gulps of air as if he’d been the one rolled down a hill. Upon catching sight of Skizz, he ran forward to crouch down at his side. “You okay?” He wheezed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Skizz admitted, trying not to think about all the things that could currently be wrong with his backside. Pain had bloomed about three quarters of the way down his spine, threatening with another burst if he moved the wrong way. “I think something happened to my back.”

“Uh, Skizz? If you haven’t noticed, something definitely happened,” Impulse slowly slid his backpack from his shoulders. “You fell down a hill for goodness sake. Thank God for this tree here.”

Skizz grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s probably what got me.” He didn’t know what to do now. He was stuck, lying here on his stomach with who knew how serious of an injury. Not to mention, they had to be at least 30 feet from the trail with no guide to point them in the right direction. Why had they even come out here? Why didn’t he just stay put like Impulse had encouraged him to during their precious days off?

“Do you wanna sit up at least, or… how bad is it?” Impulse leaned over, trying to make eye contact at this awkward angle. “Do I need to call for help?”

“No, no,” Skizz raised his head, albeit slowly, so as not to disturb the muscles along his spine. “Gimme a minute or two. It might just be shock.”

“You went down pretty hard,” Impulse murmured before attempting to add more lightly, “And I refuse to carry you bridal style anywhere, just so we’re on the same page.”

An involuntary smile crawled onto Skizz’s face. “Aw… and here I thought Dipple-dop was my knight in shining armor.”

Impulse blew a raspberry, rolling his eyes as he sat heavily in the leaf litter. “I’m just one guy, Skizz. A guy that’s trying to keep you alive-“

Skizz flinched. He didn’t know whether it was because of the statement or the pain.

“-and I just feel pretty terrible at my job right now. So what do you need? Water? Pain meds..? I think I have one or two of something somewhere.”

Skizz knew Impulse. He was in need of a task. Something to keep him preoccupied while the situation outcome was unknown. He was outwardly scared on Skizz’s behalf. And Skizz simply couldn’t ask for a greater friend. “Water sounds great right about now.”

Impulse nodded, opening his bag and digging around inside. After a moment, he brought out a clear bottle, handing it over. Only then did Skizz realize that his hands were trembling with nerves.

“Buddy,” he began, taking the water and unscrewing the cap. “You gotta relax. I’m not dying.”

“I- I know that,” Impulse retorted, looking away. Skizz sighed faintly.

“Look at me.”

Dark brown eyes sheepishly met his.

“What do I always say?”

Impulse groaned, gaze sliding past his ear.

“There are times when you can play it safe, and there are times to be reckless.”

“What are you getting at, Skizz?”

“Look at me?”

Impulse’s gaze returned, slightly harder this time. “What?”

“There’s a third option. It’s not an option though. It’s happenstance. And we just happened to run into it today, alright?”

Confusion swam behind Impulse’s eyes, but it was obvious his patience on the matter had run raggedly thin. He scowled at Skizz. “Would you just tell me what needs to happen man? I don’t need your cryptic-“

“Alright, alright,” Skizz lifted a hand, patting the air calmly. “Just…” He let out a slow breath, hoping that it would negate the throbbing pain somehow. “Just give me another minute or so. I’ll see if I can get up then.”

It still felt as if a heavy object had weighed Skizz’s lower backside to the ground. He couldn’t help but wonder why that was. His legs tingled faintly, weak, and he could tell his jeans had holes in them now. What would his girlfriend think when he returned home with a newly ruined article of clothing? If he returned at all.

Now there was a grim sentence. But Skizz was a realist. And the genuine logical reality of all this was that he’d probably bruised a bone or two and was overreacting completely.

His spine didn’t get the memo.

Shooting pain rushed up and down his muscles, nearly making him sick as he strained himself. His arms shook before giving way, and he just barely had time to clamp his jaw shut, so as to dampen the landing as much as possible. It wasn’t without his mind spewing a line of vial phrases though.

“This really isn’t looking good, Skizz,” Impulse shuffled forward. “You okay?”

“No, it’s not. And yes,” Skizz replied curtly. He gritted his teeth, trying again to bring his palms beneath him. After a moment, Impulse stretched out a tentative hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“Maybe… a few more minutes..?”

They were speaking that familiar language again. The one that said a thousand words, but only required the minimum. The one that they’d learned to interpret through studying the other. Impulse’s hand spoke volumes. Feeling the brush of fingertips against Skizz’s body sent a shiver down his already pained backside.

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Impulse radioed the emergency frequency.

–+–

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“Huh?” Skizz opened his eyes, tipping his head backwards from where he was now laying on his back, wrapped in his sleeping bag. The crackle of the fire near his head filled the silent night air.

“The forest segment,” Impulse explained, hugging himself tighter in his thin cotton jacket. It was colder tonight than it had been the night before. And many of the stars were hidden through the dead leaves still on the trees. They would be falling soon, no doubt, littering the forest floor in a blanket of its own. The two of them were now regretting not having packed more properly for emergencies. Hindsight was constantly and annoyingly 20-20.

“You’re not just feelin’ sorry for me now are you?” Skizz chided jokingly. He was comfortable making light of the current situation. He was okay with mentally removing himself from this harsh reality. He was just tired and sore from the day. That was all. So they’d camped early. “I would hate to be scoring pity points, you know.”

Impulse was silent for a while. The low fire casted heavy shadows across his face. “…no. Genuinely. Now that I’ve been listening, it’s kinda… nice out here.”

Skizz smiled. “See? I told ya. And if they really like it, maybe they can send us other places, like the ocean. That could be cool, you think?”

“You mean..?” Impulse raised his head shyly.

“We could travel the world,” Skizz nodded eagerly. “Just like we always wanted to.

“You’re crazy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

The momentary excitement dwindled. A tired sigh played on Skizz’s lips, and his smile faded, replaced with disheartenment. Pain still riddled his body, more prominent in places he hadn’t noticed before. But it was his heart that bled openly. It bled and it wept. Because despite his calm and collected face, a part of him really was scared. Fear twisted in his gut, unkind with its iron grip and sickening anxiety. He was infinitely better at hiding emotions than Impulse was. Now was no exception. But seeing his best friend so torn up about all this wasn’t exactly making it easy. There was pain, yes. But Skizz personally chose to stash it away. The two of them had always differed in their preferred coping mechanisms. Skizz believed that faking it till you made it was the answer to all problems. Impulse had a much softer approach. It did make his temper less stable, but if that was the only thing Skizz had to worry about when it came to this, then he’d still take it any day.

“I’m not dying, buddy,” he reminded his friend softly.

“You’re so lucky it wasn’t your head…”

“True. But seeing as it wasn’t, you can relax now.”

“Skizz…” Impulse found him in the firelight. “I don’t think you get it.”

Smoke curled into a perfectly still evening.

A pause followed. Skizz grew uncomfortable at it, as he swallowed nervously and filled the emptiness with, “Pitch it to me then.”

Impulse sniffled, and if it weren’t so dark, perhaps his watery eyes would be acknowledged. But the light of the low fire was too weak for that.

“What would I have done if it was your head? What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know CPR, or how to set a bone. I wasn’t ready for all this. And you’re acting like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. It’s an emergency. You’re in God knows how much pain and refuse to take the stupid tablets-“

“Impulse. The mountain rescue people are coming. They will find us, and I will be okay.”

“You don’t know that!”

“What did I tell you?” Skizz snapped, his tone dipping sharply.

“You say a lot of things, Skizz,” Impulse retorted.

“Happenstance,” Skizz glared through the dark, brows drawn together in seriousness. “You cannot plan for everything. This was never in your control.”

Sparks drifted from the pit of embers. They danced on the air, winking out of existence as if they'd never been there in the first place. And tree branches rattled above their heads, scraping against one another in an eerie disconsonant symphony. Earthy smells overpowered the fire despite being so close to its heat.

“You quoted Dead Poet Society earlier. You know that right?” Impulse asked. He twirled a small twig between his fingers absently —another coping mechanism. “There’s a similar saying in the movie. Something like ‘there’s a time for being daring and a time to be careful, and a wise man understands what is called for’.”

“Huh…” Skizz blinked, his vision blurring slightly.

“I’ll be the first to admit on both of our behalfs that we aren’t exactly wise,” Impulse broke the twig in half, tossing its pieces on the fire. “We’re not stupid either though. The jokes kinda made me.. feel stupid.”

“Okay.”

Skizz loved to make people laugh. He always had. That was why he broadcasted his voice across the county Monday through Friday, for hours on end. To bring people a little ounce of joy throughout their stress filled days and weary nights. And he got to do it alongside his best friend at that. But even more than laughter, Skizz strived to provide comfort. There could only be real laughter once comfort was established. And tonight, it was as if he was seeing Impulse for the very first time. Because in a way, he was. Impulse was in a state unfamiliar to him. And he’d been trying to push the wrong buttons all in the wrong order. So his gaze softened, relaxing as best he could despite his pain.

“Okay, Dipple-dop. No more jokes tonight.”

Impulse nodded, as if to reassure himself as well. “I just really don’t like happenstance, as you call it.”

“I know,” Skizz murmured. “I don’t like it either. I should have said that from the beginning.”

“It’s still pretty impressive how close your quote was though.”

Skizz chuckled. “If I had known that, I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

“To keep me from talking about it?” Impulse rolled his eyes, shoulders relaxing a little. “Actually, since you aren’t going anywhere, I can just tell you what happens.”

“Does this mean I won’t have to read the book.”

“Maybe. It depends on how well I remember everything.”

“Oh shut up, you remember everything!”

“Apparently everything except a first aid kit,” Impulse pointed out. “I know the first thing I’ll be doing once we get back home.”

“I think I should be the one making that purchase,” Skizz argued. “I was the one who fell down the hill, remember?”

“I suppose you are more accident prone.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You know I could.”

“Just tell me about the book already. We’ll worry about this later.”

“Just as soon as you say it.”

“Say what now? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Say it.”

“You really are the worst, aren’t you.”

For the first time in hours, Impulse finally smiled. Its brilliance washed over Skizz in a warm wave, providing more heat than the fires embers ever could. He cherished this very moment in time, because despite how he’d been acting, this wasn’t going to be anything easy to get over. He had no clue whether the injury had repercussions or a long recovery time in store for him. But Impulse’s smile made everything better somehow. It glowed like the pale moon above them, twinkling like stars, infinite like space itself.

Skizz wondered how a man such as himself would go about gaining such depths —such wisdom. And then he remembered what Impulse had said.

‘There’s a time for daring, and a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.’

And perhaps he would read that book when they returned home.

Maybe then he could gain a little bit of wisdom himself.

–+– The End –+–

[iconicanemone]

After the End

Grian fought the dragon. He should have been able to go home. He wasn’t allowed to

A Wump and Hurt/Comfort of Grian’s experiences after the Evo Dragon Fight.

Written and completed in a week. Teen rated, with 13k words

Here’s a quick link to the final chapter for those waiting for the update

[hopepetal]

Well... here it is. The epilogue of my boatem knights au fic! I have a few things to say/thanks to give before we move on to the actual fic.

This is my most popular series ever. Over the course of writing this I have learned so much, gained so many new friends, and had some of the best experiences of my life. I have been treated with such kindness and enthusiasm from the community that I have never gotten in any other community I have been in before, and it's blown me away. You all are the reason I continued writing, even as my life became hectic and my schedule became packed.

I'd like to give thanks to @applestruda for creating this au and letting me write this fic. Bee, you are amazing. I always get so excited whenever I see you around, and your ideas are so, so cool. You are so amazing and kind and you deserve all the kindness in the world. Love you Bee <3

Next, @stiffyck. Where would I be without you? I have been yelling at you in dms for the longest time, and you always match my enthusiasm, yelling right back at twice the volume. You are so fun to bounce ideas off of, and it's always great to meet people you mesh well with. Thank you for being such an avid supporter <3

And @beeboppo, because seeing your little phone drawings in my inbox always make my day. You are so funny and kind and I'm so happy I get to know you. Creating things with you is always so fun, and you always have so many ideas and thoughts. Much love <3 I appreciate you

Alright!! Now onto the fic!!

Masterlist

Scar woke slowly from a deep darkness that weighed him down, slowing his movements and his thoughts. Yawning, he brought his hands up to rub his face with his eyes still closed, stretching his arms above his head before finally opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Grian, sitting in a chair next to his bed. It seemed like the avian had fallen asleep on the side of Scar’s bed, resting his head on his arms as he snored softly. 

As Scar blinked away the last tendrils of sleep, trying to reorient himself, he began to feel all the aches and pains that he associated with the day after an extreme workout. He felt like he had run five miles in a full on sprint, exhaustion weighing his limbs down along with the painful soreness that pulsed in his entire body. Gazing around the room, he noticed the large window next to his bed that allowed sunlight to stream in. Judging by the light level, it was almost sundown.

Glancing down, Scar noticed that he had bandages wrapped around his arms and judging by the feel, around his neck as well. He recalled how one of their captors- gosh, he had already forgotten their names- had held a sword to his throat in order to threaten him. That had led to Scar going feral and-

He inhaled sharply, hands clenching into fists as memories came crashing into him like a tidal wave. He recalled the taste of blood, the endless rage that had pushed him to brutally slaughter those who had dared to hurt him and his friend. He remembered the screams, the sounds of death all around him, and then the faint sound of Grian’s voice calling out to him through the rage that had consumed him.

A soft mumble pulled Scar out of his thoughts, and he glanced down to see Grian shift before slowly blinking his eyes open. Light brown curls fell in front of his dark eyes as the avian slowly sat up, yawning. Scar noticed how he had changed into a comfortable red shirt and grey pants, an improvement from those scratchy green robes they had been forced to wear by that stupid mercenary. “You pull that off a lot better than you do the half naked and dying look, I think,” he joked, his voice quiet and rasping from disuse. 

A sleepy smile broke out on Grian’s face, though his eyes were filled with a sad kind of gentleness. “Hi, Scar.” He reached out to take Scar’s hand in his own, a hurt expression briefly flashing across his face when the other jerked away before he carefully put up a front of unbothered neutrality. “How are you feeling?”

Scar immediately began mentally cursing himself upon seeing Grian’s hurt expression. He hadn’t meant to reject the other knight so harshly, but he had been worried that he’d hurt Grian by accident, again. Nevertheless, he gave Grian a bright smile, trying to cover up those pesky emotions. “You know, my good man, I could be better! But hey, I'm here, I'm awake, it's a beautiful day, so there's that!” Oh, he was so trying to dodge the question. And Grian absolutely knew this, Scar could tell by the slight furrow in his brow. 

Grian stood, and for a moment Scar was afraid that he had really goofed it now, that Grian was going to leave and never return, but all the avian said was, “I’m going to go tell the others you’re awake.” He began to walk to the door before turning back briefly, hand on the doorframe. “Are you okay with that?”

Scar nodded, and watched as Grian slipped out of the room. He barely had any time to get lost in thought before Grian walked back in, followed by Mumbo, Impulse, and Pearl. Immediately, Mumbo and Impulse began to scold him with all the air of two worried fathers, while Grian and Pearl watched from a little behind the two. It was pretty obvious that Mumbo was crying, despite the man arguing that he was not, there was just something in his eyes, he was absolutely not full on sobbing. Scar kept insisting that he was alright, sending glances toward Pearl and Grian every so often in a cry for help, only getting smirks in return. Traitors…

Once Impulse and Mumbo were finished going full-on dad mode, Pearl stepped forward and took the seat Grian had previously been sitting in. “You alright to give us a moment alone, boys?” she asked, and with a soft murmur of agreement the other three knights left the room, Grian hesitating for a moment before following and closing the door behind him. Once they had all left the room, Pearl sighed. The smile on her face dropped as she leaned forward, hands clasped in her lap. “Scar,” she began, “you are one of the strongest people I know.”

Scar chuckled slightly, trying to ward off the tension that had grown in the room from the sudden mood shift. “Thanks. Still haven’t beaten you at arm wrestling, though.” The attempt at humor was mostly to relieve that pressure in his chest brought on by anxiety.

Pearl cracked a smile. “That’s not what I meant, you goof.” Back to the more serious tone. “You are strong, Scar. You let yourself get captured.” She sat back, sighing quietly. “Why?”

Scar felt his heart sink, feeling as though there was a pit in his stomach. He turned his head away, trying to avoid eye contact. “I…” his voice cracked, and with it, his constitution crumbled. He couldn’t lie to Pearl. No one could. With a trembling voice and hands, he continued. “I hurt Grian. I hurt him really badly because of my- because of my stupid vex form and those stupid vex instincts and then if that wasn’t bad enough I went and got us both kidnapped-”

“Hey.” Pearl cut him off, placing a hand on his arm. “Do you wanna know something about me that I haven’t told anyone else here?” She gave Scar a tight smile, something akin to regret in her eyes. “I’ve hurt Grian before.”

Scar couldn’t help it. His eyes widened in shock. Pearl clearly noticed, because she let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Stabbed him with a sword. We were young and sparring, and, well, I underestimated my own strength. He has a scar on his leg from the incident.” She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I felt terrible when it happened. Swore to never pick up a sword again, can you imagine?” She gave Scar a wry smile, and Scar found that he couldn't imagine that. Pearl as anything but a knight was just... not possible. “Right? You see what I’m talking about. Eventually, Grian beat some sense into me. Not literally,” she clarified, seeing the look on Scar’s face, “I mean that he talked to me. We spoke about everything and worked it out. And now here we are.”

“Here we are,” Scar echoed faintly, his voice sounding far away. He wondered if things could really be the same for him and Grian. After all, not only had he almost killed the avian, but he had also gotten them both kidnapped, sick, and humiliated. Surely there was a difference. He really doubted his mistakes could be fixed with a little chit-chat.

“Hey.” Pearl interrupted, shaking Scar out of his spiraling thoughts, “I know what's going on in there.” She tapped her head with a finger, smiling gently. “I’ve been there before. Tell you what- how about I go get Grian back in here and we talk. Does that sound good?”

Scar nodded wordlessly, worried that if he answered the tears he was holding back would spill over. He didn’t deserve to cry or feel bad for himself. He was the one at fault here, he was the one holding everyone back. Noticing Pearl had left the room, Scar began to really panic. Oh gosh, what if Grian hated him? What if, what if-

Pearl reentered the room, pulling Grian along with her. Scar snapped out of his thoughts once more as Grian pulled up a second chair and sat down in it, Pearl sitting next to him. Grian was smiling at him, Scar noted, and bitterly wondered what he had done to deserve it. 

Pearl clapped her hands together, startling Scar. He laughed and put his hands over his heart as though he had been actually terrified. “Right- sorry Scar- time to talk!”

And before he knew it, Scar was rambling, avoiding eye contact with Grian at all costs. “I know it's all my fault and I'm so incredibly sorry, I know you must be furious at me because I didn't only hurt you but I got us kidnapped too and they almost took your wings and it was so humiliating and then-”

“Scar.”

“And I understand if you want to kick me out from the knights I don't deserve it anyway and I'm so sorry that I was a burden and-”

“Scar.”

“-I'm sorry you've had to put up with me for so long and-”

“SCAR!”

Scar shut up.

Grian reached out and carefully took one of Scar’s hands in his own, as though he were afraid Scar was going to pull away again. Tenderly, he stroked the back of Scar’s hand with his thumb, smiling softly. “You made a mistake, Scar,” he admitted gently, eyes sorrowful. 

Scar’s heart dropped into his stomach, and he looked away. This was it then. The moment where he got kicked out of the knights, out of the only family he had known for the longest time. It had been amazing while it had lasted, at least…

Grian continued. “That mistake was pushing us away when you needed us the most.”

Scar froze, looking up at Grian. Green eyes met dark ones, both shining with held back tears. “What?” he whispered, afraid of being too loud.

“Scar…” Grian gazed at him, and his eyes were every part compassion and love. “I forgive you.”

The dam broke. 

Scar let out a heartbreaking wail, the tears beginning to flow as he sobbed. He felt himself pull Grian close, hugging him tightly and gasping out ‘thank you’s in between sobs. Grian’s arms wrapped around him, offering a comfort he had so desperately longed for during the past few days. 

Later, Scar would follow Pearl and Grian out of the small room, eyes red and puffy but with a small smile on his face. They would all talk and laugh, before heading outside to spend the night under the stars, swapping tales and singing songs. Scar would be surrounded by his friends and their love for him, and would fall asleep long after the sound of crickets became the loudest thing around.

But for now, Scar would cry, and that was okay.

[dadokid]

There's nothing but space, man..

If you know me, you know that I love Season 8 of Hermitcraft and that it was my favourite season because of the storyline. I have not felt all too well the last couple of days and used that to my advantage for a new short story about Tango and how I put a twist on his S8 ending because.. why not? :D If you want to, you can give it a read with the link attached above.

[gtwscratch]

Smart Decisions

Summary: Scar's left alone in the zombie apocalypse, having lost everyone he's cared about, but maybe he isn't entirely alone

CW: angst, mentions of death/grief/loss, self-deprecation, minor animal injury, mention of animal death(?? Scar sort of comes to that conclusion)

I promise you guys there's a happy ending

Word count: 1,558 words

===============================

Even before the zombie apocalypse started, Scar had never been known for making smart decisions. He acted before thinking—speaking, too—and was always too enthusiastic to enact plans that would always end in disaster. There was always someone telling him not to do this or that, but when you’re alone in the apocalypse, there’s no one to tell you what you can and can’t do.

So, if Scar wants to talk friendly to the undead like they aren’t trying to kill him? Perfectly fine! He wants to decorate his survival base to look nice? Hell yeah! Scar wants to waste his bullets and go a bit crazy to let off some steam? He’ll waste all the bullets he wants! Scar’s never had more freedom in his life.

That doesn’t distract him from the fact that everyone he once knew is gone, though. Every risky and stupid move he makes, he can almost hear their responses.

You know they’re not going to respond, right, says a dark-haired man with glasses, humor in his tone.

It looks nice, mate, but we should be focusing on fortifying it rather than making it look pretty, says a tall, lanky man with a mustache.

Scar! We need to save those! They’re a limited resource, says a short, blond man with beautiful, colorful wings.

Scar’s heart aches whenever he thinks of them. He misses them dearly. He replays what happened to them again and again, trying to think of what more he could’ve done to keep them alive. Maybe if he had gotten more serious, then he’d still have his brother. If he had been paying more attention, his friend wouldn’t have gotten bitten. If he hadn’t nodded off, his partner would still be with him, in his arms. But no matter how much he thinks, nothing will change. They’re gone, and Scar’s left alone, wondering why he’s the one still alive while the others are dead. He knows they wouldn’t want him to blame himself, but survivor’s guilt is a bitch.

He wanders through one of the empty buildings on a bright day. It’s been a rough morning, Scar having woken up from a night terror that involved pretty wings being torn apart. He just needs to take a good, long breather outside the safety of his home (more of a base than a home at this point, really). He knows the building’s clear, so he wanders freely through the third floor. He tries to ignore the night terror and the memories of that day, he really does. He does some breathing exercises, he tries to shake out the anxiety and bad feelings through his hands, and he tries to think up blueprint plans like when he was an engineer, but he can’t shake it. He’s overwhelmed with grief and panic, and it quickly turns to anger.

That shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. They were all so capable, and they should have survived. 

They would have survived if it wasn’t for me.

Without thinking, Scar kicks over a trash can with an ugly cry. He flips a table. He grabs the baseball bat with nails sticking out of it that’s hanging at his waist and smashes an old computer with it. He breaks old mugs. He bashes and punches holes into the flimsy material of cubicles. He breaks a window. He throws a chair. He hears a yowl. He stomps- wait, he hears a yowl?

Scar is broken out of his sorrow and fury by the sound. He stops, going very quiet and still to hear the noise again. After a few moments, there's another yowl, quieter than the first one. He follows the sound to the overturned table and looks behind it. He blinks when he sees a little gray and white kitten cowering there.

He quickly wipes his eyes. When had he started crying? He kneels down and speaks softly. “Hey there, what’re you doing here all by yourself?” Scar reaches a gloved hand out.

The kitten hisses at him and bats at his hand, her tail fluffing up more than it already was. Scar coos softly to the kitten, trying to calm her. “It’s okay.. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Despite her hissing, he manages to carefully pick her up. Upon doing so, he notices her back left paw was injured. Or was it her right paw? Scar was never good at telling his right from his left.

He feels tears burn his eyes again, and shame fills his chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I cause that? I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see you. I never would have thrown everything. I’m so sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry.” A few tears run down Scar’s face as he continuously apologizes to the small cat, petting her and trying to calm her down. Scar can see the fear in her eyes, and he gently shushes her.

“Here, stay still for a second, yeah?” he sniffles. “I think I’ve got some bandages on me.” 

He lets go of the cat, which, to his surprise, stays in his lap despite her fluffed-up, flicking tail. He pulls out a roll of bandages from his bag, sighing in relief. “Thank god I didn’t forget it this time.” He carefully tries to stretch out the kitten’s leg so he can wrap it, but he realizes his gloves are a little too padded to handle the bandages. He takes them off to work more easily, and he’s surprised at how soft her fur is despite it being matted in some spots. 

Scar takes a moment to gently scratch between her ears to relax her further. “You’re okay, see? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m sorry.” He keeps petting her before carefully moving her leg. He’s careful as he wraps it and is quite impressed with how well-behaved the kitten is. Maybe she’s been just as lonely as him out here and wanted some company. That’s what Scar hoped at least. Not that he hopes she’s been alone! He just couldn’t think of another reason that she’d be so willing to let a stranger pick her up and pet her like this.

It doesn’t take long for him to be finished. “All right, there you go, little lady. How’s that feel?” Scar keeps his hands back. As much as he wants to keep petting her, he doesn’t want to smother her and scare her off. To his surprise, she butts her head against his stomach with a quiet, “mrow.”

Scar exhales shakily, smiling and wiping at his eyes again. He holds his hand out and smiles wider when she rubs her face against it. He scratches under her chin. 

“Well, aren’t you just a little sweetheart? I guess that means you accept the apology, huh?” Scar just sits there, continuing to pet her, and the kitten starts to purr. He stays like that for a long while before glancing out the window and notices the sun setting. Carefully, he picks her up off his lap and sets her on the ground. 

“Welp, I’ve got to get back to my survival shelter before it gets too dark. You see, it’s easier to evade all the undead when it’s light out and I can actually see them,” Scar explains. “I’m not like you with your night-vision eyes.”

She simply meows up at him as he stands. He smiles back at her, a sad smile. “You take care of yourself now, okay? Stay away from those zombie guys, and I hope that leg heals up soon.” He walks over to grab his bat, and the kitten meows again, a little louder. Scar looks over to see her limping towards him.

“No, no, you’ve got to stay here. I’m sure you’re mama will be here to get you soon,” he says as he hooks the bat to his belt again. “I’m sure she won’t be too happy to see you missing from where she left you.” He starts to walk to the stairwell, but her meows become louder and longer, like she’s demanding him to take her with him. He stops and looks over to her, the sight tugging at his heartstrings.

This poor little cat, so small in the middle of the torn-up office space, is limping towards him as quickly as she can. Scar wonders how long she’s been up here. How long she’s been without food. How long she’s been alone with no one to take care of her because surely, if she had a mother, her coat wouldn’t be so unkept and messy. 

Scar had never been known for making smart decisions, and maybe this wasn’t the smartest decision, but he knew that if he left this kitten here by herself, it would be the absolute dumbest thing he’s done in his entire life.

He walks over and scoops her up in one hand, holding her carefully to his chest. “Okay, okay, you win,” he says with a soft smile. “So pushy. Don’t expect to get your way like this all the time, your highness.” She simply meows at him and butts her head against his chest, purring once again, and Scar instantly knows that he’s going to spoil this cat as much as he can.

The two leave the building, and Scar’s heart is a little less broken than when he entered it.

===============================

This has been on my mind for literal MONTHS, and I'm so incredibly proud of the outcome. I hope you guys liked it as well!

I have another TDC idea where Scar is taken from that world and brought into Hermitcraft, but I have to do quite a bit more thinking on it, and that will have multiple parts to it :)

[amethystfairy1]

We're back in the dark fantasy AU, baby!

I updated Traveling Thieves today! I'm very, very excited to see everyones reactions to this chapter, Ren and Martyn continuing to try and figure each other out...some little bits of foreshadowing have been tossed around, some more obvious than others, so we'll see how everyone feels about that.

Checks window...oh would you look at that. I can see the angry mob and pitchforks already...is now the part where I start running?

Don't forget, y'all came here for the angst and hurt/comfort! 😉

[convexicalcrow]

"Doc! Doc, where are you, brother?" Ren called as he flew into the perimeter, book clutched tightly in his hand.

It was night, which Ren did not want either, because the moon was full and his brain was buzzing with the sound of lighting filling his ears. He flew around until he found Doc fiddling with some redstone. Ren didn't know which particular monstrosity of a machine it was, but he landed and ran over to him, thrusting the book at him.

"Doc, I-I found it, I found-"

"Hmm? What's this?" Doc flipped through it, sort of recognising some of Ren's scrambled writing, but to be honest, it was all a little difficult to decipher. "Are you okay? You don't look okay."

"Last season was meant to be a simulation, yeah? None of that was meant to be real?" Ren ventured, searching Doc's eyes as he gripped his arms.

"Uh, yeah, that's what I understand happened. Why? What's this book got to do with anything?" Doc said.

"That's the moon rock book," Ren said with absolute certainty. "You know, from when I went mad? I found it in a chest under the Crastle when I was cleaning up the last of the chests I'd left there. And it's not supposed to be real. And yet it's here. I know it's mine because it has my scent on it, and yours. It smells old enough. And that's my writing. I'm sure it's the real book, Doc."

"Oh. The- right before we- oh. Yeah. Okay," Doc said, handing him the book back.

Ren couldn't read his expression as he stashed the book away. "It's been a year, Doc. Like, I think yesterday was the day it all... I've been having nightmares all week. Hiding in holes in the ground if I'm out at night and no one's slept so I don't have to see the moon. I'm terrified of storms now, Doc, in a way I really wasn't before. I hear lightning all the time. I-I don't know if I'm just not coping or if my body somehow remembers but- I'm not okay, Doc. And finding that book has just shaken me. It can't have been real. It wasn't meant to be real, right?"

"No, it wasn't meant to be real," Doc said quietly. "I... I just thought the lightning in my head was normal. But you hear it too?"

Ren nodded. "It's like white noise, and then it cracks, and I see flashes behind my eyes when I'm sleeping. My nerves have been shot all season. Like I'm being electrocuted all the time. And I don't even have any mechanical bits anymore! That's also weird, you know?"

Doc brought him into a tight hug, and Ren held him back, whining softly, his body trembling as thunder rolled across the sky in the distance.

"It's been a year, huh? I'd almost forgotten," Doc said, rubbing Ren's back gently.

"It's been a year. Doc. What do I do if it's real? What does any of that mean if it's real?" Ren said.

"I dunno. But you can stay here with me as long as you need to. Maybe I don't want us too far apart either, you know?" Doc said.

"Yeah, we went through all that together. I'm not ready to-"

Ren paused, unsure of what words he even needed or was trying to find. He clung tighter to Doc, burying his face in his chest, seeking all the comfort he could find as the thunder rolled closer and the sky flashed behind them.

[wolfclaire]

The Zombie, the Gordon and Hermitcraft

After her latest death in the Afterlife as a Zombie, Gem is forced to return back to Hermitcraft.

After she respawns, all her future plans go out of window as she gets stuck in a deathloop

There is only one person on the server knowledgable and experienced enough to help her.

The resident undead Gordon, ZombieCleo.

[paradoxlemonade]

Redstone Is A Potion Ingredient

Prompt: HOSPITAL STAY for @badthingshappenbingo

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steffen Mossner | Docm77 & Xisumavoid

Characters: Steffen Mössner | Docm77, Xisumavoid

Additional Tags: Mentioned ZombieCleo, Hurt Steffen Mössner | Docm77, Steffen Mössner | Docm77-centric, Whump, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, self blame, inhaling redstone has consequences, Redstone (Minecraft), Angst with a Happy Ending, there's an OC for plot purposes, he's the doctor - Freeform, I need to revisit this concept later

Summary:

Doc learns there are consequences to long-term redstone exposure. He doesn't have a good time, but Xisuma is there for him.

Or: Redstone probably causes an occupational lung disease, wouldn't it?

Redstone, contrary to the odd popular belief, is not toxic. Ingesting it isn't going to hurt anyone--hell, it's a potion ingredient. No, it can be safely eaten or drunk with no adverse consequences, even if it doesn't taste particularly good.

Inhaling it, on the other hand…

(Doc coughed and hacked as the plume of red dust before him billowed in the stagnant, dry air. He waved the hand not holding his lab coat over his face in front of him and staggered backwards away from the wreckage.)

(Doc tripped over a stone and the bulging shulker boxes he carefully had balanced went tumbling in a big heap to the floor. Red fine powder surged up and into the air, tinting his vision red. He scowled and swore and gathered the boxes and lids back up, heedless of the drifting cloud.)

(Doc took a deep breath and wiped his dusty hands off on the front of his shorts. The air was heavy with humidity and powdered redstone. "Ah, I love the smell of a machine coming together.")

Doc didn't think much of it, not in a way that connected. Sure, sometimes he was short of breath or his lungs wheezed on the exhale, but that was just part of getting older, nothing more or less. Surely there was no connection to his lifelong passion.

Surely not.

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