#hunter!grian

[mochiwrites]

— in the cold of night

The only sound that fills the room for a moment is that of the creaking bed springs as Grian sits down on the mattress. He grimaces in pain as he works his black jacket and red jumper off of his body, revealing the medium sized cut on his side. The bleeding isn’t extreme, the wound itself isn’t even major. But it is unpleasant. He groans, either in frustration or pain, or maybe even both.

In the candle light, he looks around the room, brows knitting together as he does. It’s as if he’s looking for something.

“Here.” A white box is held out to him, and Grian looks up at his partner gratefully.

“Thanks, Scar.”

He sets the box down on the bed, flicking it open and grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandages.

While he does this, Scar returns to his spot in the furthest corner of the room, the one closest to the window. He leans against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. He tries to look at anywhere that isn’t Grian.

Grian pops the cap off the bottle before grabbing hold of a cloth. He douses it, heart beating nervously in his chest all the while. “This is always my least favorite part,” he grumbles, body already tensing up, bracing for the stinging pain that will appear.

“Well, if you got injured less…” Scar quips, glancing at his fellow hunter.

“It isn’t my fault monsters like to think I’m an easy target.” Grian gives him a little glare, though it’s one without any real heat. He inhales sharply as he presses the cloth against his wound, hissing with quiet pain. Almost instantly does his side begin to feel sore, but it needs to be done in order to avoid infection. “Scar, can you—”

“Already ahead of you, G,” Scar says as he’s suddenly appearing at Grian’s side, a bottle with a glowing liquid inside.

Grian smiles gratefully at him before he continues to clean his wound. When he finishes it, he sets the now bloodied cloth aside and reaches for the bottle Scar holds. He opens it and takes a few careful sips of the regeneration potion. The effect is near instant, with the pain in his side dulling to a soft ache. He’s left sore and a bit tired. Grian sets the rest of the potion on the nightstand before grabbing the roll of bandages.

It’s a lengthy process, wrapping his own wound. His eyes feel a bit heavy (“Stupid potion always makes me feel so tired.”), and the end of the bandage slips from his grasp a few times.

Scar can’t bring himself to watch, keeping his head firmly to the side. He tries to ignore the sweet scent filling the room, wafting through right to his nostrils. He digs his fingers into his arms, forcing himself to keep a clear head. No.

When Grian finally finishes with the bandages, he ties it off with a small knot and lets out a sigh of relief. Haphazardly does he pack everything up and toss the white box onto the nightstand. He grabs a new clean shirt from his bag and throws it on before glancing out the window. The moon is high in the sky. Scar is back to standing by it.

Grian frowns. He finds himself passing his hunter an almost longing look before settling himself into bed, pulling the covers up. He shuts his eyes.

Scar is left alone, his only company being his thoughts. He replays the events from earlier over and over in his mind, remembering how terrifying it had been to see Grian attacked by the monster they were hunting.

He bites his lip.

A part of him aches to feel Grian’s warmth pressed against him, some kind of reminder that he’s there. But Scar is scared. He doesn’t trust himself to remain in control. He doesn’t trust himself to not hurt Grian.

And yet the still part of him that’s human craves the contact. The comfort.

Unsure, Scar glances over to Grian’s sleeping form. He watches the way his body moves in time with his breathing, and he can’t help it. He’s a very weak man.

Grian is just starting to drift off when he barely registers the bed dipping and a weight joining him. He feels a slight warmth against his back as arms wrap around him and he’s pulled close. He sleepily sets a hand over the scarred one resting on his stomach, placed ever so carefully to avoid his wound. There’s a relieved little smile that finds its way onto his face as he feels Scar nuzzle his hair.

“You have to stop scaring me like that, Grian,” Scar murmurs.

“I will when y’stop doing that to me,” Grian huffs. “Now go t’sleep.”

“Yessir.” But Scar doesn’t sleep. He spends the whole night awake, just to be sure he doesn’t hurt Grian.

[solbellaria]

Iskall and Stress have left the Hermitcraft server

Edit with all the info we currently have about the situation:

According to Mumbo there were no minors involved

False confirmed on her discord that Stress left on her own accord, complaints were only about Iskall

One of the members of VHsmp has left due to “differing moral values with its leadership”

The episode of Imp and Skizz podcast that featured Iskall's interview has been removed from all platforms

Mumbo remove all merch from his store that features references with Iskall

Grian removed Iskall's name from some of his old titles

2 of the victims Mefallit and Kasszi have come out with their statements which you can find here, please send them all the love and support!!

cw//references to online sexual abuse and manipulation

https://www.reddit.com/r/HermitCraft/s/KL0j9FBRzh

[sculkshrieking]

Death Note AU for spooky month! here's serial killer Scar and shinigami Grian, the winning duo from this poll

here's a doodle of the second place team too since i technically drew this before i even made the poll

[thedinnertablesys]

Starts chewing on my fingers

[ghoulbats]

crossover of the century being a former rt/ah fan and having gavin’s question of a million dollars but you get chased by a snail that’ll kill you if it touches you inspire grian to the point of having a wild card in the new life series literally be the snail that chases you

[relgnira]

Saw this template from twitter and wanted to try it! Can you tell I have a type…

L-R, T-B: Gem (hermitcraft/traffic smp), Grian and Joel (hermitcraft/traffic smp), Tex (RvB), Hunter (TOH), Bobby Fulbright (AA:DD), Agent Washington!!! (RvB)

[flurmitcraff]

I'm still so very sad about many things but also specifically about Mumbo taking the Sahara merch down from his store. I completely understand why and respect his decision, and i think the company that works with him does the designs to order so that minimizes wastage...but Sahara was one of my favorite hermitcraft projects ever and such an ambitious redstone design and all their season 6 shenanigans meant a lot to me.

I'm no stranger to still loving the *work* despite the terrible actions of one of the creators (orson scott card hates everything I am and Speaker to the dead is still a great book lol) but its evident Sahara means a lot to Mumbo, and it couldn't be easy for the hermits as Iskall was a member and friend for so many years. I don't mean any more speculation to this post other than this whole situation is upsetting and *doubly so* for the victims and Vault Hunters community that directly financed or were employed by him full time. This doesn't just concern fan culture but peoples livelihoods.

[vesperionnox]

[ Day 54 ]

The Hunter and The Ghost

[brac-a-bric]

[ghostyclay]

HBOMBS NEXT VH EPISODE IS GONA BE HIM VAULTING WITH ETHO. I REPEAT. HBOMB94 WILL (probably) BE UPLOADING A VIDEO OF HIM AND ETHO VAULTING.

HE'S DOING THE LORDS WORK OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!

[huskynotwolf]

Had a dream where Grian is just a full-on Watcher and was on the Watcher’s side until he found out that the Watchers have been using humans as test subjects

Imma turn this into an au

Also Velociraptor Martyn but idk why

[ahllohehn]

Ik your au isn’t just a retelling of the events in the books, but I thought the fact that some of them are in both Hermitcraft and Empires was just begging for a HOO scene redraw (I might do one on the Camp Empires side later)

I hope you like it ^-^

This actually activated so much of my neurons, I love this SO much oh my god

I didn't expect to wake up to fanart in my asks?? This is wonderful

I'm guessing Grian is asking about Santa Perla???

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: the eclipse

(~2,8 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

Every couple of years, there’s a total eclipse in this world. The moon is big, obscuring the sun in a horrible totality, entrapping it for what feels like too long. This is a big event, but not because people are eager to spectate the sky and bask in its weirdness. No, it has much worse connotations.

Because the eclipsed moon affects many of the hybrids. Especially the animal ones.

Hunters look forward to the eclipse because it promises a lot of loud, distressed, instinct-driven hybrids scattering about without many defences. They prepare traps specifically for this occasion and organise big hunting parties, eager for the upcoming bloodbath and bounty.

The eclipse happens mid-winter while Scar and Grian are on the server.

And it’s awful.

[cws violence, murder (no known characters), panic, mind-altering states and a loss of self control, haywire instincts, non-consensual manhandling, horrory vibes]

They don’t really know what is happening at first. Hermitcraft is a safe server which has many things coded differently, and because eclipses hurt many hybrids, they never happen there. So Scar and Grian have never experienced anything like this, and the yank it has on Grian’s state in particular is startingly sharp and terrifyingly confusing.

Scar himself is alright, because—and the two of them don’t know this at the time—vexes are immune to the eclipse. 

Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The eclipse helps heighten their magic.

They thrive.

Grian does anything but thrive.

His instincts go absolutely batshit haywire. He starts getting disoriented and incredibly uneasy, anxiety holding him in a choke hold, and all rationality and caution leave him, replaced by pure fear. 

He starts making inadvertent chirping sounds, panicked, and no matter what Scar says or does, Grian can’t seem to stop.

It’s so dark outside. And Grian’s chirping isn’t the only one that sounds through the forest.

In a world where they thought avians might be all nearly hunted to extinction, there are now suddenly, in this darkness, piercing faraway chirps. Just as panicked and lost-sounding as Grian’s own.

But those are not the only sounds the looming forest has to offer.

There’s also hollering and cheers. Whistles and barks. Twigs snapping under careless boots. Hunter parties following every single hybrid noise right to its source only to slice it shut. Shrill, chilling screams before some hybrid inevitably plunges into absolute, horrifying silence.

Scar’s desperately trying to get Grian to shush. He pleads him to stop, to be quiet. Tries to calm him down.

But it’s all futile. Grian has no control over himself. He can’t make it stop; it’s a wholly new kind of fear, overpowering and unfamiliar, yanking at his instincts. (It feels, a little bit, like a huge moon crashing down while the ground underneath him shakes and disintegrates.) (It feels like locking eyes with someone and not being sure if he’ll ever get to see them again.) (It feels like apocalypse. Like the end.) (His mind screams at him and he can’t help but scream along with it.)

Scar wonders if he should put a hand over Grian’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to do, but the hunters are out there, in large numbers, tireless and eager, and Grian’s voice is now the beacon luring them over, pinging with their exact location.

Grian is slowly backing away, hunched, feathers puffed. His wings are semi-curled around him, no longer tucked under the cloak, even though they’re out in the open. 

He doesn’t seem like he’d do well with being touched.

But Scar needs him to be quiet. For Grian’s sake too.

Before Scar can do anything, though, Grian’s earwings flit wildly and he whips his head to the side, honing in on some noise.

It’s a distressed chirp, one that sounds closer than any of the other ones. 

It’s an avian in distress calling for help.

Grian thought there aren’t any avians but him, and now there is one, still alive, so very close, desperate for aid, and— Grian’s mind blanks. There’s only one single thing to do here. He isn’t thinking. His heart beats wildly in overdrive. His body moves.

Blindly, Grian bolts in the direction of the sound. 

And it’s up to Scar to scramble and run after him. 

It’s more than that. More than just following Grian. Because there is so much at stake, and he needs to stop him and quiet him and— And he might have to exert force, and—

Oh. He is basically hunting Grian down here.

He is the hunter following in the steps of a terrified avian.

And Grian, in his dazed and fragmented perception of the world, feels just like prey. There is so much happening for him right now: it’s dark and all he can see is Scar’s piercing vex eyes when he glances over his shoulder; he’s lost in panicky instincts, trying to reach another avian in distress, hurtling blindly towards potential danger; and he does feel hunted.

On top of that, he can’t stop the stream of bird noises. He can’t pull his wings under his cloak either. He’s stumbling and tripping and scaping himself all over, but he feels like he needs to keep running.

He no longer knows if he’s even heading the right way. The chirping he was following fell dead silent. His head is just screaming at him. Hot white panic and a cacophony of unstoppable, overpowering instincts.

Scar has to stop him before he gets himself killed.

As awful as it is, Scar doesn’t care about that other potential avian (it could be a trap) nearly as much as he cares about Grian. His priorities here are clear, desperation thick and loud in his lungs, pressing at his ribs. There’s no time for bargaining or for steeling himself. 

He needs to act.

Scar grabs Grian and tackles him to the ground.

He’s pinning him down, sort of straddling him, hands on Grian’s mouth, hopelessly trying to muffle the noises. He feels absolutely vile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His breaths come in little sharp huffs of blue magic, shiny through the darkness as he expels a ton of emotional energy just to keep himself from panicking and crying.

He finds that it’s not as easy to hold Grian down when he doesn’t want to be pinned down. But also it is. It is easy, far too easy—harrowingly so. Grian’s so light. (It frightens Scar to even touch the thought of how simple this would be for the hunters too.) 

He’s terrified of hurting Grian accidentally. He’s very capable of it; Grian’s made of brittle hollow bones after all, and Scar’s grip is a bit too strong, but he doesn’t have a choice here. Grian won’t stop thrashing, fighting to be freed. (But Scar knows that letting go would almost surely result in Grian’s death.)

And where Grian’s attention is kind of selective, not processing things at all, Scar’s attention is sharp—sharpened by panic—keenly attuned to their surroundings. He hears all the various noises come and go. Not necessarily chirps; other hybrids, too. Them falling silent. The hunters yelling. And the screams. God. The awful screams.

They’re all too far away for now, thankfully, but if Grian won’t stop, they’re bound to come this way. After all, if Scar can hear them, surely they can hear Grian too—?

Scar feels nauseous and horribly helpless. The hunters cheer and laugh as the hybrid noises go dead silent, one by one— only the hounds left barking and howling in their wake.

Scar knows that, even though it’s awful, they can’t help any of those hybrids. But he’s going to do everything in his power so that at least the two of them can survive this.

Despite all his (pointless) efforts, the hunters catch up to them anyway.

As they approach, Scar is struggling to quiet Grian down, and Grian isn’t thinking straight enough to properly fight. It’s the worst possible situation. 

There’s no point in quieting Grian down anymore when the hunters are right here though, and so Scar moves on the defensive, ready to give it all to keep Grian alive. The fight is ugly, drenched in frightening desperation; Scar is numb to the pain even when something tears. Grian’s chirps get worse. Warmth drips down Scar’s face.

But then a different sort of howling breaks through Scar’s mounting panic, and—

A group of wild vexes rushes in. Not to save Scar and Grian in particular; it’s just a lucky timing.

Because as it turns out, just the way hunters set off to hunt down hybrids during the eclipse, the vexes—who are more powerful at this time, magic thrumming strongly in their veins—set off to hunt down the hunters. So nicely accumulated for them. So loud. So easy to find. 

The vexes and the humans clash, and in the swell of the chaos, Scar manages to drag Grian away. 

He wants to keep going, increase the distance between them and everyone else as much as possible, but all too soon the forest opens up into fields, and no way he’s pulling a dazed Grian out there where they can’t hide. So instead he swerves, anchoring them against a rock formation—an array of boulders and a jagged cliff wall. 

He presses Grian into a small dent there, covering him with his own body (imprisoning him there, in a way). Hiding Grian’s wings, muffling his chirps, whispering frantic things that are meant to be soothing. The sky is still dark, and Grian’s still chirping, although it’s quieter now; it’s clear he’s exhausting himself, but he’s still making noises. Still unable to stop, despite the terror and the fatigue.

They get found again.

But it’s not the human hunters that find them this time. It’s the vex group, sneaking up on them, all their sharp edges drenched in blood, glowing with magic.

Scar turns his back to Grian, still pressing against him, tucking him against the rocks, hiding him as much as possible. He’s ready to lash out. He’s ready to fight with these vexes, even if he’s outnumbered. (He’s got no species loyalty here, after all.) 

In a curious tone, one of the vexes says: “That avian is going to get you killed.”

The words register to Grian through the haze. He’s still absolutely lost amidst this all, barely understanding the world around him, struggling to process anything. But there’s something about the words avian and get you killed, and the thought of Scar, that makes it through the fog.

It only serves to make him more distressed. He breathes in sharp, shallow breaths, and his chirping grows louder again, high pitched. But it’s not just the chirps this time. Some of the sounds he makes are choked, merging into something more like himself—the sound of helpless sobs.

Scar is shielding Grian with his back, but that means he’s turning his back on Grian’s cries and all of his misery. He cannot comfort him. He has no words that would make Grian not afraid right now.

The vex suggest leaving Grian or—worse—using him as a bait.

Scar’s staring them down, growling lowly, one eye squinted as blood runs down his face. “How about you leave.”

The vex don’t budge. They think they’re after a good thing here, after all. Surely, Scar also wants these hunters dead?

What they’re suggesting isn’t to sacrifice Grian as a bait—they don’t actually want to outright hurt or endanger him, even if it maybe doesn’t translate well through their stance and words. They’re not malicious in that way. What they’re suggesting is simply pragmatic in their minds. (I mean, they wouldn’t grieve if the avian happened to die there, but it wasn’t their goal to let it happen.) 

“We’re hunting the humans,” they note, as if that should’ve been enough to sway Scar. “We could use the avian—”

“No.”

One of the vex, white hair braided and smile sharp, peeks past Scar, trying to glimpse the feathers. The violet shade reflected in the glow of their magic tells him everything he needs to know, sating his curiosity, and he whistles, impressed. Amazed that an avian like this has lasted so long.

Scar lunges at him for getting too close.

He gets laughed at in return. What’s he gonna do, all alone? Not even channelling his magic to heal his own wound. It’s just funny to them. Cute. “What’re you going to do?” they tease, a bit too cheerily for the situation at hand. It rings threatening. “You’re outnumbered, pal.”

Scar doesn’t back down. “I’d take at least one of you down with me.” It’s a big statement. Covering up all of his nauseating fear and unending tension. Because he’ll do it. He’ll fight if he has to, and it will be ugly, and he might fail—he might die—but he’ll for sure give it everything he has.

And he can tell there’s camaraderie between this group of vexes. That they don’t really want any of them seriously hurt. 

They, as vexes, know the best how dangerous a feral, cornered vex with something to protect can be.

There’s a sliver of respect this earns Scar, unbeknownst to him. The will to stand up to them even when he’s outnumbered like this. To not give in to the pressure and instead fight for his values. For what he cares for.

The white haired vex—seemingly a leader of the group of sorts—reiterates, tone a bit lower, that the avian is going to get Scar killed. That he’d be better off without him. (Essentially voicing the deep rooted fear Grian already has.)

He also extends an invitation, almost in the same breath, impressed by Scar standing up to them. But it’s only Scar who is invited, and it’s blatant—the condition laid down is drop the avian or let’s use him as a bait and hunt together. 

With sharp ire and a swell of protectiveness, Scar counters that he’d be better off without them, actually.

There’s a snort and a mocking, “Aight, let’s see how long you can last.”

The relief Scar feels when they relent and leave is immense, leaving him weak in his knees.

He thinks they’re foolish, risking themselves like that. In his mind, they’re the definition of the violent vex, that dark reputation that seems to now stick to Scar and follow him too by the virtue of being the same kind of hybrid. He doesn’t want anything to do with that. 

And of course, he’d never leave Grian.

Grian is his last connection to home. He loves him, even if it never feels like it’s enough.

Excruciatingly slowly, sun eventually peeks back out. But even then, it takes Grian a very long time to untangle himself from these dazed, nonsensical instincts. It’s such a heavy, sticky veil and he’s left disoriented and confused for the longest time. Through his exhaustion, he feels weak and dizzy and out of it.

Scar is also exhausted, but they’re nowhere near safe yet. Still pressed against the rocks. Every nerve ending is flared up, Scar’s senses alert to the point of flinching at the subtlest sound, hypervigilant. But as Grian slumps and quiets down, Scar’s firm grip on him follows. 

Slowly, so slowly, Scar’s hold on Grian becomes comforting instead of restricting and terrifying.

He can tell that it left bruises.

Scar hates everything about it, but— They’re alive.

The sun is back, Grian is quiet, and they’re alive.

But they still need to find safety. And Grian’s so frazzled, still processing what even happened. The blurred memories of chirps and howls and screams swirl through his mind. He feels lightheaded, and like his skull is stuffed full, unable to think clearly. He doesn’t quite understand any of it, and his body feels locked in place. 

Grian wants to stay sitting here until everything starts making sense, but they don’t have that kind of time. They can’t stay. They need to move. They need to properly hide. 

Scar feels awful, but he needs to push through. He needs to force Grian to move.

The snow is splattered with blood. The forest is dead silent, scattered bodies left behind all across it. The area is riddled with traps, some activated and others still hidden, waiting to be triggered. 

The sun is shining.

The silence is eerie.

The scent of blood is thick and fresh and nothing feels safe.

--

Later, when Grian’s more coherent, he says, “They were right.” In an incredibly quiet, fragile, unsteady voice—but laced with determination—he tells Scar: “You should’ve taken their deal.”

Scar immediately tries to dismiss it. Preferably to not engage with this conversation at all. “Not interested.”

Grian registers the shut down of the discussion, but that doesn’t make it any less loud inside of his mind (and heart). He simply goes quiet and withdraws. Lips pursed, lightly frowning, staring somewhere away.

They don’t talk about it again.

Late at night, when Grian can’t sleep because he’s too high strung, he thinks of how it’d feel like, to be used by those vexes as a bait.

He dreams about it.

He dreams of faraway chirps and laughter and hounds finding him.

He has so many nightmares after this.

-------

BONUS screenshot for shits n giggles:

[huskybutart]

Had a dream where Grian is just a full-on Watcher and was on the Watcher’s side until he found out that the Watchers have been using humans as test subjects

Imma turn this into an au

Also Velociraptor Martyn but idk why

[top-scar-maverick]

Hotguy and Cuteguy or X-Ray and Vav

Art by @cherrifire and @roosterteeth respectivly

[oriandcate]

Was watching Iskall's Vault Hunters series and it really started to hit me just how much of the lore of the Vaults feels vaguely Watcher-related. For example the Vault God named Wendarr, who the more I look at the more I feel is connected to Martyn. Time alignment because of Limited Life? Same color palette? And then you realize each of the other three Vault Gods could correspond to the rest of the players who've ascended because of the Watchers (minus Scott because the Watchers hate him). Idonna Red? That's Grian. Velara Green? Saint Pearl. Tennos Blue? BigB or Scar. I dunno man, but from now on, all the Watchers in my fanfic are gonna be named Wendarr, Idonna, Tennos, and Velara.