#to be honest not going to lie i do not think i did grians eyes justice

[klbzplb]

heyyy look at these people that have no idea what sort of mess theyre getting into

(scene from chapter one of @ari--anon 's i am weary with contending! i love this fic so much its so good. i thought mumbos slight third wheel energy in that scene was funny so this happened)

bonus woo

unblurred scar and ariana because i really like how they came out :D also a little easteregg in there for those who read the fic :DDD

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

shepshermitdesign23 WEEK ONE

grian as a rogue

he is an avian rogue, chaotic neutral, he uses kind of long metal hooks that he holds in both hands (think jet from atla) his background is that he's yk looking for scar hes trying to find info on scar so when it says "grian needed that information" thats what i meant cuz he doesnt know where scar is and NEEDS to find him (that's his motivation)

(1946 w)

tw: slight blood, battling with magic and also not magic, yeah

i wrote this for @shepscapades hermit designing thingie but i decided to write a fic for it instead, as my drawing skills leave much to be desired lmao- so uh here have roguey grian being a rogue and stealing things! (btw i did not edit this even once so its really rough just bear that in mind while reading sldkjfs)

The stars are him, and he is the stars. This is a fact, something he knows beyond doubt, something that’s always been there underneath, rippling against the waves of Grian’s life. So as he leaps across the rooftops, a shadowed figure wrapped in black and gray, he stares up at them, breathing deeply to calm his rabbiting heart. This is fine. It’s just another heist, another job, it’s the last one.

It’s the last one. And of course, his last day on the job, he’s given an offer he can’t refuse, the biggest and most important thing he’ll probably ever do. Grian has been sent to steal the crown. The king’s crown. Ren’s crown.

Grian knew Ren once upon a time, before he was consumed by the power that was offered to him. He remembers how they would go out for drinks at the pub, laughing and towing along their respective boyfriends, betting on the raucous barbarians that just couldn’t help but pick fights with each other after getting tipsy on a few drinks.

But that was almost a different life. Now Grian’s older, he’s smarter, and he can’t remember the last time he laughed. Hell, he can’t remember the last time he smiled. When Ren became king, when it was revealed that he was the heir who had been missing for so long, Grian was adamant against a resistance. He decided that it was best to just… stay in the shadows, in honor of their old friendship.

And he’s been surprisingly good at doing so. But the offer he’s gotten… well. Let’s just say it’s something he can’t refuse. Someone he can’t refuse- or rather, information regarding to their whereabouts from a very reliable source. The only reason Grian is going to be able to pull this off is because if he does, he knows what could be at home waiting for him.

He’s been so lost in his thoughts he’s almost missed his stop, and he tucks his hooks into his belt, making sure his wings are properly bound to his back, their bright colors sure to give him away otherwise. The castle looms in the distance- Grian’s target. He pulls out his spyglass, taking note of the guards patrolling around the castle, Ren’s trademark red banner hanging from their waistbands.

How is he going to go about doing this? He scans the castle walls for an obvious in, but if there’s one thing to be said of Ren, he is not lax in his security. His eyes rove over the towers once again, hoping that maybe he’s just been a little bit mistaken, but no. Every inch of this castle is swarming with guards.

“Fuck,” Grian curses under his breath, putting his spyglass back into the pack and tightening his fists on his hooks, trying to come up with an alternate plan. He could go in by brute force, incapacitate or kill all the guards on the way up to the treasure room, but the problem with that is to be honest, he doesn’t know if he’d be strong enough.

Another option lies in the fact that he can fly- if he wished, it would be as easy as one, two, three to unbind his wings, soar up to where the jewels are kept, and enter through the window. But he’s certain someone would see him coming, maybe even the Hand, and Grian doesn’t want to have to deal with that. In fact, he’d rather he has to exert as little force as possible. His strengths lie in being sneaky, not strong, and though he often wishes he had a little more muscle on his bones, he knows where his forte is.

So, what’s the ploy? Grian slides down the roof a little further, crouching and hoping he won’t be seen. He supposes that if he wants to pull this off without getting caught, his best bet is… going through the trash chute. God damn it. Grian heaves a disappointed sigh, but it’s not like there’s any better option. He jumps nimbly down from the roof and begins to follow the sewers, divots of odorous rushing liquid carved into the ground. 

He’s memorized the floor plan of Dogwarts Castle, to the very point that he knows which pipes lead where and when. He crawls into the ground, soaking his front in the foul mixture of rot and feces. Only a couple years ago, Grian would have found this idea appalling, and though it still freaks him out a bit, he’s resigned now to the things he needs to do if he wants that information.

And he does. He wants it more than everything. So he crawls forwards, breathing shallowly through his mouth to block out the stench, his memory the only thing leading him through the pitch dark maze. Turn right, then left, another left, right again. There should be a ladder here. He blindly runs his fingers against the dead end he’s come across, and sure enough, a cold rod of metal sticks out from the wall. Grian moves his hands upwards to feel another, and another, and another, until he’s standing to his full height.

Then he grabs hold of the rung right above his head and begins to climb. He pulls his whole body upwards with each strong push, going four rungs at a time to save energy. He’s so close, he’s almost there. He can see the light peeking through the end of the tunnel, and he closes his eyes for a second, recalibrating to figure out where he is. That’s North, then East, South, and lastly, West. So he’s in the bathroom across the hall from the jewel room. Good. So long as no one’s taking a poo right now, Grian’s in the perfect position. 

Plus, he’s so covered in human waste that even if someone is to see him, they’ll probably just assume he was cleaning out the sewers. He quickly climbs up the last couple rungs, his head poking out into a decrepit stall. Pulling himself out of the toilet, Grian briefly considers dumping the ubiquitous bucket of water sitting in the corner over his head, but in the end decides against it. It could make too much noise, leave too much of a trace, and his employer for this job has insisted very particularly that Ren or any of the guards cannot know, under any circumstances, that Grian’s the one stealing the crown.

Flipping locked the latch on the door quickly, he peers through the moon-shaped window, waiting for a gap in the constantly rotating circles of guards. Before he leaves, he makes a quick glance to the door of the jewel room across the hall, the horizontal slit in the golden lock telling him all he needs to know.

For whatever miraculous reason, the door is unlocked. Grian takes his chance, opening his door and leaping across the hall in one fluid motion, quickly sliding into the treasure room before the sounds of chatter from the end of the stony, lamp-lit hall get any louder. He slides his hand up one of his hooks, using the pointed end as a sort of skeleton key to lock the door. A quiet clicking sound tells him he’s met his goal, and he slowly turns around, his heart beating haywire in his chest.

He stumbles backwards as he realizes someone else is here as well. He’s a warlock, his blond hair cut off at his shoulders, a black headband pushing it out of his eyes. The man’s robes are a dark green (an unconventional color for a warlock, Grian notes,) a looping sigil imprinted in the center of his chest. His eyes are a light, piercing blue, a staff clutched in his right hand and a sphere of red light dancing in his left.

“Hello, Martyn,” Grian barks out in a laugh, because he should have known, he should have known. There’s no way Ren would make it this easy for him, and the door to the treasure room being unlocked was a big giveaway that he ignored. And why was he so careless? Because he needs this information, he would do anything, he would- he would kill his own mother if it meant he got to know. And because of this, he’s been unspeakably sloppy.

“How’ve you been, buddy?” Martyn smiles darkly, his skin shallower, his eyes more sunken then when Grian saw him last. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, for sure, too long,” Grian agrees, trying to drag out the conversation long enough to gauge his chances of winning this fight, and if that’s not an option, how he can nab the crown and fly out before Martyn can react. He’s already shrugging the bindings off his wings. “How’s Ren doing? Tell him I say hi, yeah?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Martyn grins, his teeth pointed, more animalistic than Grian remembers. “You can tell him yourself, right before you’re sentenced to death for betrayal of the kingdom.” The warlock lunges, lobbing the sphere of red energy at Grian’s now unbound wing. He just barely dodges, feeling the edges of his feathers singe as the wall behind him implodes.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, Martyn,” Grian mutters through gritted teeth, clenching his fists even tighter around his hooks and lunging forward, dodging the staff and hitting Martyn square in the stomach. The warlock grunts and flies backward, clutching his midriff and glaring darkly at the rogue who’d caused him pain.

“You’re asking for it,” he growls, assuming a powerful stance and spinning his staff, a whirlwind erupting from its end, tracing its way towards Grian. But Martyn’s underestimated the avian once again, and he leaps above the tornado, jumping nimbly around the room. If he can just lead it towards the glass case that holds the crown, the power of the wind will break the glass, and Grian will be home free.

He’s already gotten a good hit in on Martyn, and to be honest, he feels a little guilty about it. They used to be friends; there was a time before Ren cornered the enchantment market and took over the kingdom. There was a time when it was just Ren, Martyn, him, and Scar at the pub. Oh god. He stumbles, tripping up- and it nearly costs him his life. Focus, Grian. He can’t think of Scar right now. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Glass is imploding all around him, and all of a sudden, his goal is met: the display case for the crown splits open, sharp shards flying all over, grooving scratches into his skin and clothes. Martyn’s eyes widen, realizing his mistake too late. Grian is quicker, grabbing the crown and turning quickly, aiming a swift kick to Martyn’s head. It connects, and he falls to the floor, momentarily dazed.

Grian could kill him, right here and now. It would be as easy as a quick snap of the neck, and for a moment, he considers the possibility.

But he’s a sentimental fool and he’s too soft for this, he still remembers the time when they were all friends. And so he leaves Martyn laying on the floor, growling quietly in his ear before he leaves: “Don’t forget this. I left you alive when it would have been so much simpler to kill you. You could leave, Martyn. Join me and leave. We could use your skills.”

And then Grian’s gone, jumping out the window and letting his wings flare out behind him, the king’s crown clutched securely in his hand, flying out into the stars, out into the sky that has become his home.

[sweetest-honeybee]

Down to Dust

Chapter 5

Fic Summary: Grian will have to keep the dragon egg secure for the Watchers. But, they’re not the only ones who want it. On a completely unrelated note, Mumbo will have to deal with a version of himself that's only amplified by his No Killing mindset.

Chapter Summary: After a semi-sleepless night with a mysterious and insult heavy voice, Mumbo admits to Grian that he wasn’t exactly honest when he said nothing happened to him before he gave back the egg.

TW: Sleep deprivation (just in case), insults/degradation, and similar things (it’s not a bad chapter but to those a wee bit sensitive)

Word Count: 1441

Notes: None I don’t think

Enjoy!

——————

Your idiocy astounds me.

Mumbo turned on his side and pulled his knees to his chest. It was still dusk, the middle of the night most likely. At least, it felt like he’d been up for hours. Just as sleep tugged at his eyelids in an almost successful attempt at letting him drift into a peaceful slumber, a voice, and a strange one at that, jabbed itself into the back of his mind. It did nothing more but insult him.

How’ve you become so gullible.

It wasn’t just any voice, he discovered. It was his voice. Of course, that’s what thoughts were most of the time, especially particularly degrading ones. However, it was different from his usual self deprecation. It was a deep, distorted echo of his voice, but he recognized it all too well.

And it wouldn’t stop talking.

He didn’t see you take it, you daft spoon.

It was likely just buzzing nerves after the egg’s outburst. His heart still raced at the very thought of it, and when the egg came to mind, so did the eerie voice. Weird things happened after he got his hands on the egg in the first place. Thus, the voice was a new addition alongside an aching in his limbs and an uncanny…guilt, for lack of a better word. Almost as if he’d done something wrong. Like a child that’s broken their parents’ favorite vase.

Must’ve been the leftover shame from Grian’s scolding.

He sat up, leaning his head back on the cold wall of the van and rubbing his eyes.

Grian’s lied to you like he’s done several times before. You’re a fool to trust him.

Mumbo didn’t feel like listening to the gravelly voice. He pulled his hand away from his face and held it in front of him. The fatigue left it blurred against the interior of the van. Only a soft golden light emitted from the windows behind it from the bases outside. It was a nice glow. A soft, serene warmth that he could almost…almost doze off to…

That egg holds a power unlike anything you’ve seen. A thousand times more than all the redstone you can imagine.

He lifted his head from its slow descent to his chest. Power? What was power to him if he was too tired to use it because the damned voice wouldn’t let him sleep. Half lidded eyes trailed towards the hand that was now in his lap.

Why don’t I get it for you if you’re so frightened of your little bird friend.

Mumbo was dozing again. In this state, he mumbled to himself.

“Don’t even know who you are,” was all that slurred from his lips. He decided to humor the voice anyway. “Just some thought.”

Who I am hardly concerns you.

“You keep insulting me. Why would I listen to-“

Mumbo, it snapped. If you wish to keep questioning me, it’s a futile attempt. My purpose here is to…make a deal of sorts.

“Deal,” the redstoner echoed with a short nod. “I must be very tired. I’m making deals with myself. Mhm, what kinda deal.”

I need a little bit more power. You retrieve the egg, then we can talk more.

“I can’t…get the egg. Grian has it.” He snorted. “If he hid it well this time. Didn’t you say you could just get it?”

If a vexed businessman with less common sense than a beached squid can find it, I’m sure you can. As for the offer, I unfortunately cannot get it alone.

“I’m not very helpful.” Mumbo yawned. “Just some stupid hermit.”

Believe me, I’ve heard, the voice sounded as if it were to roll its imaginary eyes. But, you’re the only stupid hermit that I have the capability to ask. I’m asking for your assistance. You want the egg, yes?

“I…do want the egg.” It just causes issues though, he added to himself. But, it could revolutionize everything if he could experiment with it. Test its limits.

Good, Mumbo, you can use it for all kinds of farms. You love farms. Farms, vaults, walking…bases. The voice cleared its throat. Many things, of course.

“Mhm. I do.”

Do we have a deal, then?

Mumbo nodded silently, more so to please the voice and get on with ending the conversation. But, he was just talking to himself, it wasn’t exactly easy to simply turn off your thoughts.

He pulled the blanket over himself. As long as he got some rest, things could go back to being as normal as Hermitcraft would let them be. It was already looking up for him. The voice quieted for longer and longer until he was successful at his final attempt to sleep.

The next morning, however, he was up much earlier than he certainly wanted to be, having been awake a mere four hours later to a knock at the van’s door.

He groaned, finally having just gotten comfortable in the small space. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his eyes with a wide yawn. He reached over to the other side of the van, opting to pull the door open from his bed. (Having spider-like limbs came in handy once in a while, he supposed.)

At the door was Grian who looked much more awake- no- alive than Mumbo certainly knew he did. The builder initially greeted him with a smile but before a word even partially escaped his mouth, he grimaced at Mumbo. Though, cringe seemed a better word.

“My god you look awful,” he hissed.

“Good morning to you too,” grumbled the redstoner as he pulled himself out of the van. He stretched, earning a chain of pops down his spine which ended in a satisfied sigh.

“You know, I’d say sorry but I’m not joking, you look like the walking dead. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A bit,” came a simple answer.

“A bit,” Grian mocked. “When someone says they got a wink of sleep, it’s not a literal statement-”

“Do you need something?” Mumbo turned with a huff.

The avian cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, just wanted to check up on you.” The redstoner only raised a brow. “And you’re out of end crystals.”

Mumbo waved a dismissive hand, only to cover another yawn. “I’ll get those soon.” He began to walk to his potato farm when Grian stopped him with a tug of his arm.

“And I um-“ He sighed. “Sorry again about the whole egg thing. I hope that’s not the reason you look so tired.” Rather than ending in a snort or a giggle, he only looked up at the other with an almost regretful expression. A stark contrast to his mood seconds prior.

Ah, Mumbo guessed that he only came to talk more about the egg. The sentiment was nice though.

Too tired to try to lie, however, he shrugged. “Well, it kinda was but not much to do with you.”

Grian pulled away. “Kind of?”

“Yeah, can’t really explain it. Just nerves I guess.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to choose his next words semi-carefully. “But, I um- I wasn’t all that honest when I said nothing happened when the egg did what it did yesterday.”

This only earned a groan from his friend who accompanied the sound by pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jeez, Mumbo, of course you weren’t. What happened?”

“The egg…I don’t know. When that whole thing happened I was kind of…caught in it. I didn’t run fast enough to avoid this weird wave of energy. Weird stuff’s been happening since.”

“Oh,” was all that left Grian’s mouth.

“Oh?” Mumbo gestured for his friend to continue. “Am I- Is that a good thing? Bad thing?”

“Well did it feel bad?” The avian ran his fingers through his hair. His expression seemed a mix between confused and fearful. Still, wide eyes darted in every direction except the other man.

It only made Mumbo anxious. “What? Is something going to happen to me? Did I screw something up?”

“We’ll that’s the thing, I don’t know! The Watchers don’t know either and-“

The redstoner held up a hand to halt Grian’s answer (or lack of), now mirroring the wide eyed horror on his friend’s face. “Hold on The Watchers don’t know?! Grian you’re a Watcher!”

“Ah, not quite-“

“Not quite?!”

“Mumbo!” snapped the builder. He continued in a hushed voice. “Okay, no, we don’t know. Really, you won’t die but the likelihood is that you might’ve just started a potential dimensional war.”

“I did what.”

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Nine

I’m back I’m back!! I had to get this one outta my system before the climaxes start firing off.

Sounds of scribbling acted as a filler for awkward silence as Scott and Tango sat alone in the meeting room together. Crushed sugarcane was being burned to ward off the lingering stench of cow manure that seeped in from outside.

Scott rubbed his eyes, feeling the way his whole body was strained with stress, he sighed tiredly.

“What’s on your mind?” Tango asked him from across the table. He didn’t stop writing.

“Nothing,” Scott replied, which was a lie, but he didn’t feel like talking to Tango about it.

The other man took off his reading glasses and bookmarked his journal with his pencil.

“Well I know that’s a lie, and I know how much you like to complain, so you may as well lay it on me,” Tango offered.

Scott sat up straight and eyed his teammate, “if this is one of your attempts to be friendly with me it’s not going to work,” he said.

Tango looked like he was trying not to get too pissed off, “you know what? Yes, yes it is. And I don’t appreciate you getting smart with me. Or Impulse for that matter,” he pointed a finger at Scott.

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Stop that! You’re acting like a teenager,” Tango stopped trying not to look mad, and it was relevant to mention that compared to Tango, Scott could be a teenager.

“I don’t care. I’m not here to be your friend,” Scott argued, but he looked at the floor the whole time. Trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

“Well dammit Scott. Sometimes I feel like I don’t want to be your friend either; but here I am trying. I’m trying to understand you so I can help you,” Tango stood up and leaned over the table.

“Why do you care?” Scott stood up to meet him.

“Because I do!” the other shouted, and it was a lousy response, but there was no mistaking it for a lie.

That’s what scared Scott the most. If he was being honest, which he usually wasn’t. It scared him that someone was willing to say that even after he’d done his best to be a bitch to them. Well, he didn’t try to be, but he knew that’s what he was.

“And it’s killing me inside to see you suffering alone. Unwilling to talk to anybody because you think you can’t tell the truth,” Tango continued.

Scott wanted to say that it was true. He couldn’t tell the truth. Not to Jimmy, Scar, Grian, or the Crastle folk. A quiet part of his mind whispered that he couldn’t tell the truth to himself either.

“Look,” Tango sat down, “I know we haven’t exactly gotten along. Some of that is my fault too, so don’t think I’m blaming you. It’s just that if we really want this-,” he waved his hands around.

“-Plan to work out, you probably shouldn’t have a million pent up emotions bouncing around up there,” Tango pointed to Scott’s head.

“And you need to make an effort,”

Scott stared at the notebook on the desk. He sat back down and fixed his hands on top of the table, not knowing what to say, he bit the inside of his lip. Knowing that if he did start talking he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure.

The past few weeks had been rough. He made a stupid mistake and got yelled at by Etho, which wasn’t fun at all. In the aftermath his three days off was completely stripped for the next week and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping easy. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Scott was being exceptionally irritated.

He looked up at Tango, who stared back at him encouragingly, and that proved to be the nail in the coffin. Scott put a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders started shaking and the tears came moments later. He felt Tango take his hand which was still on the table, and they stayed like that until Scott could speak without sobbing.

“You know,” Scott started, shakily.

“I don’t know why I didn’t just tell Jimmy about this,” he rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his bandaged hand.

“You want to protect him,” Tango replied.

“No- well, yes, that; but I just couldn’t. Every time I get home, no matter if it’s in the middle of the night or not, I tell myself that this can’t go any further. That I have to tell him,” Scott spilled, “but I just can’t. I mean what would he think of me?”

“I don’t want him thinking of me as a traitor. Or a spy. Or anything like that. It’s the worst part of all this, knowing I can’t tell him,” he said, hiding behind his hands.

Tango nodded sympathetically. He stood up again, this time he brought his chair to Scott’s side of the table.

“That’s why you have friends, Scott,” he said, “Jimmy is your husband, and sometimes it’s very hard to be both. A husband and a friend.”

“That’s not to say he can’t be; but the reality is that you will never be able to go to him for everything. Relying solely on one person,” Tango fidgeted with his fingers, “it can be dangerous,” he said.

Scott nodded along with him. To show that he was listening. Tango was right, after all. He sniffled, “You’re right,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

“Nobody is perfect. No one person can understand everything about you,” Tango said.

“Mhm,” Scott nodded. He breathed out heavily and rubbed his eyes, “Ugh I feel-“

“Stupid?” Tango provided. Scott punched him on the arm.

“Better! I was gonna say better! Rude,” Scott reprimanded. Tango laughed while holding his shoulder. Scott couldn’t keep it in either and he laughed too. Resting his head on the back of his seat.

“Did Impulse skip today’s session because he wanted us to figure it out or what?” Scott said through his last giggles.

“Yeah, he did,” Tango responded.

“You conspired against me with friendship,” the other mimed being shot in the heart.

Tango pushed him playfully by the shoulder, and Scott saw him really smile for the first time. The kind that lingers on your face while you’re trying to cover it with a drink.

“Trust me Scott, you’d rather it be friendship,” Tango replied.

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 7

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, mild torture)

Chapter rating: T

Nice long conclusion chapter to make up for the short one yesterday! From BDubs view, plus nHo hurt/comfort (emphasis on comfort)!

As in all the previous chapter posts, if you’ve enjoyed the ride I took direct inspiration from this oneshot on AO3! Please give them some love and appreciation.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

It had taken days before Xisuma figured out what EX had done to the server that had caused the respawns to break in the way that it had, and how to fix it. However, figure it out and fix the problem he did, and with respawn mechanics back to normal, everyone who had died and respawned during the glitch was able to reset their health completely. And properly set their respawn points as well, since part of the glitch seemed to be that people’s respawns were being set as they were dying. But the biggest adjustment in the days after EX had caused havoc was trying to help Etho recover.

While Etho seemed relatively ok once he was able to talk again (his tongue and all his other lingering injuries were fully healed with the fixing of the respawn, though figuring out a way to get him to respawn was both more difficult and less difficult than BDubs had expected); BDubs was hearing from Iskall that all was still not right with the world. Normally, Hermits would let current season basemates/regional allies/faction mates do the heavy lifting of any emotional or mental stress that a particular Hermit experienced on the daily unless the Hermit asked for help from specific Hermits. But in this case, BDubs felt he should invite Etho to an nHo reunion/get-together. Even if Etho didn’t necessarily need the reunion, BDubs knew the rest of the nHo did. 

They had all been in various states of hysterics by the time they had gotten Etho out of the restraints and the death loop he had been locked in. BDubs had been the first person to breach the room, with Iskall and Beef right behind him. Beef had blocked up the water to stop the cycle as Iskall and a recently arrived Cleo began breaking restraints while BDubs clutched Etho’s freed hand (thinking back, he probably shouldn’t have. Etho’s hands had looked hardly better than the rest of his mangled flesh. He also wasn’t sure how they managed to get his wrists detached from the cuffs, as his arms and wrists were still solidly clipping into the restraints). Hypno had fiddled with the camera and looked over the speakers, before he managed to get everything deactivated and convinced the remaining Hermits to gather at Cleo and Joe’s base. By the time the Hermits were assembled at Joe and Cleo’s base, and Etho had been safely transported from the floating box, Doc was a hissing mess, Beef was greener than normal as his stress seemed to activate the alien transition, and BDubs had resorted to constantly checking his clock (a nervous habit he had picked up from 3rd Life, but the less he thought about that hell server the better). Etho had been quickly whisked away by Iskall to their shared base, but was just as quickly relocated to the Spawn Egg; as neither had wings, and Etho wasn’t nearly healthy enough to try and scale his own base in the sky. Plus, being at the Spawn Egg had the added benefit of easy access by the rest of the server so that other Hermits could stop by and check in on Etho’s progress while they all waited for Xisuma to fix the respawn mechanics. BDubs stopped by once while Etho was recovering. It was a little out of his way when trying to visit the Yes Wings Club, but figured he might as well since he hadn’t seen Etho since they had saved him 2 days before. 

Etho looked about what he had expected to be honest. Since they were worried about whether a normal respawn would register his tongue being gone as normal if they healed it properly with potions, the other Hermits had determined to wait on healing him till after he had properly respawned. That left him bedridden till the server was fixed though, which no one was happy with. BDubs was told later that supposedly Etho had understood during the few times he was lucid enough to listen to someone during that time. While he had been there though, Etho had been solidly asleep, Iskall asleep himself by Etho’s bedside. BDubs had taken a moment anyway to sit on Etho’s other side and just quietly talk to him about what he had been up to in the day or two since they had saved him. Iskall had come to briefly to see who had been talking, before settling back into his chair to rest.

BDubs had left pretty quickly, if he were being honest. Seeing Etho as vulnerable as he was left BDubs feeling a bit ill. After that, it had only been a day or two more of anxiously waiting for Xisuma to fix the server before they had been able to get the other Hermits respawned properly. (There had been several deaths during the time the respawns had been on the fritz, including a couple during the search from fall damage.) But when it came to Etho, they had tried to explain what needed to happen during one of the next times he was awake, but he had been becoming more unresponsive the longer he had been bedbound. So with heavy hearts, it had been decided that Etho needed to respawn as soon as they could decide a way to do so. After much debate between Iskall and Xisuma, it was decided that a quick anvil to the head would suffice.

It was told to BDubs later that Etho had respawned a few paces from the bed he had been sleeping in at Spawn looking incredibly confused and lost. It took close to a half hour to explain what had happened to him before him and Iskall went back to their shared base. And if Iskall was to be believed, it sounded like Etho hadn’t slept since the first night back. Which was almost a week ago. Not that many of the other Hermits were doing better. From the sounds of the grapevine, Mumbo still blamed himself for what had happened to Etho, and despite apologizing and promising Etho a cut of all his profits that season to make up for his decision (which he had been told Etho had forgiven Mumbo for and told Mumbo to keep the profits as he was just respecting Etho’s choice) he insisted on trying to find ways to make it up to an increasingly exasperated Etho. (Which BDubs noted was somewhat out of character, since Etho almost never missed a chance to keep someone in his debt and exploit them for his own projects). Other than Mumbo, Doc had been reported also to not have been sleeping as much, but instead he worked on his most recent engineering marvel. Beef had been throwing himself almost entirely into setting up his own shop outside the Derpcoin market to sell his own brand of non-evil cat food. BDubs knew that Beef was taking the whole: “Derpcoin is actually evil not even a meme” thing incredibly hard, since his whole thing this season had been going over to the dark-side as an alien (which BDubs still didn’t understand how that had started in the first place). BDubs himself was doing just fine thank you very much! Sure, he’d been struggling with sleeping at night himself (every time he closed his eyes he could see Etho strapped to that chair and drowning again), and yeah, he’d been trying to work on the shopping district by the mountain instead of the Horse Course (he had heard from Iskall that Etho had been working on something outside the base, and BDubs had a sneaking suspicion he knew at least one of the projects Etho’d been working on). But he definitely wasn’t nearly as bad as the other members of the old nHo. Definitely. He couldn’t lie to himself, they were all having a bad time. 

So, as BDubs was wont to do, he took things into his own hands and sent invitations to all the nHo members to come by his base for a get together. The date was set, and he visited every member in person leading up to the event to make sure they were coming, no excuses! (He knew it was particularly urgent as when he went to check on Etho, he finally found him sleeping in one of BDubs’ builds next to the horse course, and when he got Etho awake, he cracked exactly 0 height jokes until he tried to get Etho to come by later and it was a height joke every minute. The height jokes were BDubs’ way of figuring out how nicely Etho wanted to play. The less the better.)

But now the day had finally arrived, and BDubs welcomed each one of his friends into his base with open arms and a smile. First to arrive was Beef, seeing as he was closest. Then Doc. Then as BDubs was debating messaging Iskall to find Etho for him, the man himself showed up on BDubs’ doorstep. Everything went off without a hitch in the beginning. They all were able to reconnect and chat about bases and projects they were working on; Doc with his redstone magic he was getting from his friends on another server, Beef and his efforts to create a new kind of cat food, Etho and his many projects ranging from an inventory sorter to the horse course, and BDubs with his latest shop attempts in the Big Eye Crew shopping district. (It was good to see Etho making fun of BDubs’ attempts at making a redstone shop. Etho hadn’t heard of it yet, and it was a delight to see him light up while joking about what BDubs could possibly make with redstone that even someone like Grian couldn’t do themselves.)

It all comes crashing down when Etho asks Beef more about the cat food. Specifically what was wrong with the old cat food. 

Now Beef hadn’t expressly said that he had been working with EX for having a cat food stand at the Evil Emporium; but he had implied that his previous cat food flavor would be going on the back burner. What they all had assumed was that Etho at least generally knew most of the gossip on the server. But what BDubs should have guessed was that Etho had been very absent this season, and unless the current events were directly affecting his plans, he had never been one for being up to date on server events. So BDubs should have guessed that Etho asking about cat food would only end in a bittersweet ending.

“So Beefers, you said something about your cat food getting a new recipe… What happened with the old recipe? Not up to snuff?”

“I will have you know that all my cat food is premium and delicious, and I will not have you slandering it in this way,” replied an overdramatic Beef. 

The nHo chuckled at his antics before Etho came back with, “Well if it wasn’t the quality then what was it? Now you have me intrigued.”

Beef shrugged. “I just wanted a cat food to really call my own is all.”

Etho gave him a look. “Wouldn’t the other cat food be yours too?”

“Well…” Beef looked deeply conflicted. BDubs decided to say it for him. “He was working for the Evil Emporium since he started to change into… I guess it’s an alien?”

Etho stilled at the name, and the rest of the group held their breaths. “Ah,” he replied, suddenly tight as a bowstring.

“Which is why I’m making a new brand of cat food, one which I’ll be selling from a shop near my base for diamonds,” soothed Beef, trying his best to keep Etho away from bad memories.

“I can see why you changed brands then,” replied Etho through a forced calm. He was not subtle in the least however. Bdubs wondered if the hurt in Etho's eyes was from the idea that his closest friend had supported the monster that had hurt him, or the idea that his friend would completely change his plans for the season due to one off script incident? Bdubs had a feeling it was definitely the former.

(BDubs had asked Xisuma after all was said and done if he remembered anything leading up to them being in front of the screen at his base. X had said the last thing he had remembered before that was meeting up with EvilX to discuss business strategies before blacking out after their customary greetings. He explained it had happened before, but he had somehow never thought much of the memory gaps. However, he agreed with the rest of the Hermits that had talked with him about it that it was a problem that would need to be investigated because it sounded like mind control. And a player that could control the server admin was a force too powerful to allow free. Or at the very least, a player that needed to have some very hard limits as to what they could do placed upon them.)

“You know, Etho, have you been ok?” asked Doc hesitantly. BDubs hoped that Doc knew what he was doing, because Bdubs was definitely lost.

Etho looked a bit like a cornered animal at the moment as he looked between the 3 of them like they had betrayed him. “Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?”

Doc gave him a look that BDubs thought was completely justified. “Etho, you went through an incredibly traumatic experience only a week or so ago. It is completely fine if you aren't doing ok.”

Etho sighed. “And what would you even do if I wasn't ok?”

Doc gave a hissy whine and moved from where he had been situated to sit close beside Etho. “Well, we'd figure out what we can do to make it a little closer to being ok.” He looked down at his lap. “I know I've been struggling with sleep recently, so I understand at least if you aren't sleeping either.” Etho looked vaguely stricken.

“You were part of the group that was watching, weren't you?” BDubs watched as Etho began to close off. Doc just nodded miserably. “And the two of you?”

BDubs felt gutted, knowing that Etho either didn't remember him breaking in to save him and holding his hand; or was purposefully ignoring the memory. “I stopped you from drowning more by blocking up the source block...” muttered Beef, looking pretty hurt himself.

“I found your enclosure and got the search party together to come finish breaking you out; and was there next to Beef when he was saving you,” finished Bdubs, a bit more of the hurt shining through because he couldn't hold a poker face even if his life depended on it. But also, Etho needed to see that he wasn't alone, in a lot of ways.

Etho looked appropriately chastised, if also incredibly grateful. “Thank you, all of you.” He leaned lightly into Doc's shoulder; the most affection he would normally show to anyone. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you 3, so thank you. Thank you so much.” They all politely ignored the sniffling coming from behind the mask, though Beef situated himself on Etho’s other side, and BDubs decided to try and strategically place himself on the floor in front of Beef so that if Etho wanted to lean a leg against him, he could. BDubs was so tempted to drape himself over Etho’s legs, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Etho probably wouldn’t handle being immobile in a sitting position well for the foreseeable future. However he was vindicated when his hair was playfully ruffled by an Etho hand as the 4 of them devolved into just sitting with each other. 

BDubs should have guessed that Etho wouldn’t stay down long however, as Etho (after inconspicuously wiping the corners of his eyes dry) said, “so, who wants to help me prank the Boatem Crew?” BDubs could feel the devious smile creeping across his face.

“Now you’re speaking my language Canada boy!” Etho wheezed a quiet laugh above him. 

“You sure you want to be slinging that kind of slander at me short stuff?”

“SHORT STUFF?!?!” BDubs got up in a huff. “I’LL SHOW YOU SHORT STUFF, YOU DAMN BEAN POLE!” Beef, Etho, and Doc all burst into chuckles, leaning into the couch as they tried to get themselves under control. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DO YOU? Ooooooh, you are all playing a dangerous game!”

Etho and Doc proceeded to laugh harder, leaning against each other. “What are you going to do BDubs, bite our ankles?” asked Beef before breaking down laughing again. 

“I’LL BITE YOUR ANKLES JUST WATCH ME!” and with that, BDubs was all over Beef, trying to get a solid shoulder punch in, but being thwarted at every turn. A stray punch at Doc, and suddenly everyone but Etho was rolling around the floor trying to playfully murder each other. Etho wheezed in laughter at their antics, and expertly avoided getting added into their mischief by eventually hopping up a ladder to the next floor and watching from the opening.

Eventually they managed to settle down, and by the time they had gathered themselves enough, it was night time. BDubs, with a lighter heart than when he had let in all his friends earlier in the day, said goodbye to them with promises that if Etho really was serious about pranking the Boatem Crew, the nHo would be right by his side. They left one by one, first Doc (who complained that he was already behind schedule on his build), then Beef (who playfully recommended Etho come help him run his shop if he wasn’t too busy helping Iskall dye prismarine), and lastly Etho. But before Etho departed, he said, “you know, I already thanked you, but I feel I should do it again.” He met BDubs’ gaze. “Thank you so much for finding me. I don’t know how that would have ended if you hadn’t caught sight of that place”. 

BDubs was humbled by Etho’s gratitude, though he still replied with, “You’re my friend Etho, of course I would give it my all to find you. I’m just happy we were able to do so before it was too late. And if you ever need to get away from it all, it’s pretty nice out here once you get past all the big eyes.”

Etho wheezed a chuckle in response, a hidden smile brightening up the corners of his eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind. You take care of yourself now, you hear? I don’t want to be hearing of too many shenanigans from you, ok?”

BDubs laughed in response, and nodded. “Can do! And you do the same, ok?” He let the humor drain a bit, a more serious tone shining through. “If things get bad, please let someone know. Doc knows what happened, and he would be able to tell you who else was there that you could talk to if you needed it.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, yeah. If it gets bad I always have Iskall and you guys.” Etho glanced at a clock in his inventory. “Looks like I should be off. If I start now, I should be able to get back before sunrise.” Etho waved goodbye as he turned to go.

“Stay safe! I’ll see you around then,” called out BDubs as he watched Etho quickly jog to the nearest source of water. Then, once acquired, he flew with the flick of his trident, starting his way back to the nether portal so as to make it back to his base safely.

BDubs went to bed that night content knowing that if Etho ever needed the help, he knew who he could reach out to.

-fin-

[bellysurfer]

walls could talk (hermitcraft abandoned shadows au fanfic uwu)

Joyful collapsed to his knees. He felt their entire body tremble as the sky erupted, exploding with shards of blinding light. The shadow clasped his arms around his skinny frame, shutting his eyes tight as tears stung his cheeks. A horrific boom shook the very atmosphere, power vibrating through its waves.

The ground of the plains where he had sat, a distance from the portal, felt cold and unwelcoming. It was hard, barren in a way that he hadn’t noticed before.

The quill he pressed desperately to his chest vanished in a wisp of air. His head hurt. *Bad*. Confusion and terror blinded him, stealing reality from Joy and forcing him into his own thoughts.

Lost in himself, he didn’t hear the tears, the booming voice declaring the new shadow, or even the footsteps slamming against the ground toward him. He was tired. He was scared. He didn’t care.

Puzzler was gone.

Everything that he had feared, was gone. All those days of regret, of anger, frustration. Hating his manipulator, Killjoy, the other shadows, his summoner... *himself*. It was all gone. Kicked into the dust. Broken into a million pieces like the sky. None of it mattered. He was free. But so, so, terrified.

Joyful felt a hand grab at his shoulder, shoving him back into reality. His hands left his heaving sides and flailed about, looking for something, anything to steady him. He recognized the shape, the body. He felt his head, his hair. It was all too familiar.

“Joe?” He whispered in disbelief. He choked, his throat stinging as a flood poured out from his eyes. “Joe, is... is that you?”

Something shifted away from his hand as he lifted it to touch its face. It sighed. A deep, painful sigh, one of gentle understanding with stifled frustration. Joy could tell the Joe-like thing that held him in the present had been waiting a long time to see him in a bundle on the floor, pained, powerless, afraid, fallen, and completely *helpless*.

It sneered at him. “Almost...” Killjoy hummed softly. Joy didn’t like the sound of his voice, it felt like the sound of a knife grinding a countertop, like nails screeching on a chalkboard, and yet it was so low and menacing, like dusk over a long-dead forest.

“No,” Joy moaned, horrified, as Killjoy weighed his hand more heavily on his shoulder, digging his nails past his shirt into his shadowy flesh.

“What I’ll never understand is why you did it. What did he promise you? Greatness? Power? The rush of energy crackling in the air as you dug your sword into your victims?” The other shadow hissed.

“No!” Joyful shouted, his anger lashing out like snakes at the idea. He shook his head, the sensation of overwhelming frustration with his right to defend himself leaving instantly. Did he deserve his own justification? Did it matter if it was for love? It was still so selfish...

“Then what.” Killjoy lashed back, challenging, then lowered his tone slightly when he saw that Joy had broken down into tears again, lost in his own thoughts of doubt. “Why did you help him? Why did you obey?”

“He made me.”

“Liar!”

Killjoy’s words stung the broken shadow like a vicious swarm of wasps. He knew he was right. He was lying. He kept running from the truth, scared it would claw him to shreds if he turned to accept it. But now, it was time. Time to stop running. If he couldn’t accept himself, then what was he?

“Fine.” Joy spat. He was aware of Killjoy’s curious gaze on him, willing him to elaborate.

“He said... it would make me better than you. That if I could write the future, I could stop you. He said...” The burning sensation in his throat came back in full force, to the point where he struggled to breathe, words coming out in wheezes of something resembling words. But Killjoy understood. All too well.

“He said... he said that...”

“He said that Joe would love you. More than me.” Joy looked up to see the original shadow gazing into his soul, shaking his head slightly. He was more than surprised when he moved to wipe the tears from his eyes, then took his hand back as if thinking better of it, then settling on laying it on his other shoulder.

Joyful broke. He fell into Killjoy’s arms, much to both of their surprise, but he didn’t care. No words came out, just heaves of breath as he let it all out. Frustrated bumbling was reduced to desperate cries as Joy let himself go.

In that moment, with his burning mouth, his numb muscles, jelly bones, sticky, stained cheeks, he was more honest than he had ever been.

It felt good to be honest.

Killjoy looked down at the small, curled up mess that clung to his collar and stained his shirt with tears. He growled, thinking of how he had just had it washed, but only for a moment. Kill awkwardly held the other shadow, lifting him up a bit so that his head leaned against his chest. He closed his eyes, muttering nothing in particular, amazing himself with his own sympathy.

He remembered when he had felt like that. Lost in his own mind. Struggling to find the difference between his logical thoughts and irrational feelings. He had felt dishonest before, too.

Maybe there was a part of him that still did.

They sat like that for a while. Just holding eachother, comforting both of them with the warmth between them.

No one bothered them during that time. If they heard them, or saw them in that little closed-off field, they left them alone. And such that Killjoy was only mildly aware of the pitter-patter of feet against the ground coming closer. He lifted his head suddenly, startled out of what had seemed like some distant dream, that was until he looked down and saw Joyful still clutching his collar, now asleep against his chest, cheeks red with grief.

Kill made out Joe through his fogged glasses, and sighed, out of relief or embarrassment he didn’t himself know. The man’s hair flipped wildly in the wind, covering his face before throwing itself behind his head, almost pulling him with it, as he approached in the now very windy valley.

The shadow slowly got to his feet, feeling his own hair flutter against his cheeks, as if it was angry at him for the weather itself. Killjoy steadied himself, hauling Joy up with him, knowing that whatever state he was in, Joyful was worse.

Joe ran to greet them, holding his shadows, suddenly shooting Kill into a reality he had only been vaguely aware of. “Howdy...” he mumbled, blinking himself awake.

“Is... is he, okay?

“What? Oh, Joyful. Yes. He um...” his gaze turned to the small figure stumbling to get his own weight of the ground with Killjoy’s steadying grip. “He’ll be okay. He’s not taking it too well.”

“Taking what well? Puzzler is gone, we should be happy...” Joe muttered, half to himself, voice soft with concern.

“Y’know, I think I’ll let him talk to you about that.” The man nodded, seeming to understand. “Right now, he just needs some rest.”

Killjoy looked back down at Joyful. The other shadow shook himself, suddenly aware. He seemed to know what they had been talking about, and nodded, giving a small smile to his summoner. He began to stumble off, and Killjoy held his arm back with concern he didn’t know he had. But Joyful shook his head.

“I need to go lie down.” Joy choked out, and Joe nodded in agreement.

Now alone with his summoner, Killjoy watched as Joyful shakily made his way out of the field. He met his eye, and watched as Joe turned to go back to the clamor of people around the new shadow.

“Wait.” Killjoy watched as he turned back towards him, eyebrows peaked in expectation.

“I-I don’t know how to say this.” He started, surprising himself that he was doing this.

Joe tilted his head, eyes warm behind his lens, nodding him on in encouragement, clearly interested in what his shadow had to say.

“I’m sorry.” When Joe didn’t respond, he continued. “I’m sorry, for what I did. I know we’ve come a long way, but... I couldn’t move on. Without, saying sorry. I know it’s dumb...”

“It is not dumb!” Joe replied, raising his voice more than Killjoy had ever heard it before, as if he was scolding him. As if he was angry for thinking that his emotions weren’t valid. Kill chuckled a little. He still felt he didn’t deserve Joe, but maybe it wasn’t about that. Maybe he needed Joe.

“I forgave you before you were sorry, Killjoy. The moment that you did something, I had found a way to love you. I never gave up on you.” He knew that each word was true. He felt relieved. Like a weight was off his shoulders.

“Thank you, Joe.” Killjoy sighed, meeting his gaze, feeling more calm than he had in months.

“Come on. I gotta introduce you to the new guy.” Joe strode off, talking avidly about Grian’s new buddy. He follow along, exciting himself with the sensation of feeling, of emotion. He carried on, close behind, always like a shadow. And maybe, it was time to accept it.

[masked-disciple]

this is an ask so you can delete all messages :D

All right, Moonie. I've put off answering this long enough. I've... wanted to talk to you, and I've had a hell weekend, and I'm exhausted and drained and really out of joy to find right now and I'd be blackout drunk if there were alcohol to have in the house right now.

So let's talk. About you, and about me, because let's be fucking real here, you never knew nor cared to know anything about me, and you're never coming back and you're not quite dead but I'll be wondering on and off for the rest of my life if a single thing I said to you ever got into that thick skull of yours.

To say you were the worst friend I've ever had would be a lie, because I counted Seth as a friend once, and he was definitely miles worse than you. And that's... not fine but it's fine, because if he hadn't put me through hell and ruined my ability to ever be truly functional again, you would have hurt me a lot more than you did.

It's funny, something Rei said in your server. That they left you because you refused to tell them what was wrong with you on the basis that they'd hate you, but not telling them made them hate you. You never did like talking about yourself, unless you could find some way to use the people around you as razor blades.

Some of us don't like to be self-harm tools. Some of us cared too much about you to mind as much as they should have. Well, I wasn't one of them. I didn't tolerate your bullshit any more than I had to. I didn't block you only because you were pretty good at giving headcanons and being forgiving of me trying to think up how I could make Grian/Impulse both underage and incest without changing their dynamic because I thought it would add to the drama.

To be honest, Moonie, we weren't friends. You never cared enough to know literally anything about me, or to find out, and me tolerating you for fandom purposes doesn't much count either.

And yet.

And yet you went nuclear without so much as an "I need a break from social media" and I walked into your server with one goal, and that was to be the person I never fucking had as a teenager. I went to your server and I told them none of it was their fault, that there were no magical words that would have saved you, that it wasn't your fault either but it was your responsibility to fix.

And then when they understood that they hadn't done anything wrong, I told them that if they wanted to make it better, to go out there and fucking live, because you weren't going to, because maybe if they lead the way by example you'd eventually follow them, and if you didn't then at least they could be sure they wouldn't make your mistakes.

You could have gotten better, Moonie. All of your suffering was, in the end, completely fucking pointless. I get that you were sad! I get that you woke up every damn day wondering why the hell you were still breathing! I get that you didn't have anyone you really trusted and you hated your body and you couldn't understand why anyone would care about you!

And maybe the only reason one of those teenagers in your server didn't commit suicide was because I told them it wasn't their fault, and that the way through was to never, ever be fucking like you. Because you ripped them apart, and I said, "This is the consequence of thinking you don't matter. Moonie believed nobody cared, and look at how upset everyone is. Just because you don't know they love you doesn't mean it isn't true. Don't do to others what she's doing to you. Be better than her, because she won't fucking be."

I wouldn't know. I stepped in and I stepped back out again, and I keep an eye on it, just in case they need me to step in and say the magic words.

You know, after Seth, I've gotten pretty okay at saying the magic words. For a time I thought I was okay, and for a time I thought "wow I might be traumatized", and for a time I thought "I escaped trauma by being too stubborn to let it touch me" and it wasn't until not too long ago that I figured out that not noticing the results of what he did to me doesn't make me any less traumatized, any less paranoid, any less vicious and choosy and convinced that everything is a battle I have to win, because if I don't someone's going to die and their blood's on my hands.

The only thing I knew, after the second or third time you decided to tell me at length how much you hated yourself and launched a battalion of transphobia in my direction in hopes I'd leave you and prove how awful you are, is that nothing I said would ever get through to you until you decided to let it, and whatever happened, you were not my responsibility.

Because Moonie, you're 25. You moved a country away from your family and had a job and a life and you could absolutely have changed your entire situation. Your suffering was pointless, and avoidable, and not a damn thing about it made me sympathetic to you. There were ways out. There were so many ways out I wanted to slap you until you saw them. You shut your eyes and screamed even louder.

All you had to do, Moonie, was go to your fucking doctor and say "Life is pointless and miserable, and I need someone to show me the way so I can see something else for a change."

Nobody could have helped you until you decided you wanted to change. I told you six times that last day we spoke that you needed a doctor and therapy and that it was okay to be transgender. You didn't believe me once.

Moonie, you kept saying how nice it must be to be me, because I've got everything together and I'm confident and I know who I am.

And I don't. I don't! At no point have I ever actually had my life together! I'm a fucking disaster who doesn't recognize his own emotions when they hit him in the face! And you never fucking knew that, because you never fucking asked, and I wasn't stupid enough to tell you because I knew you'd just use it against me!

I am a jealous, territorial asshole who acts like he's got something to prove and the world wants him dead because I do and it does and I am so, so sick of being stepped on and belittled that when people actually give me a lick of fucking respect I walk all over them because I don't know how to deal with being heard. Because nobody's ever let me, and they still don't let me, and I'm so resigned to that never changing that I just walk out of the gate swinging in hopes I land the first punch.

I don't know how to stand down, Moonie, but I did for you, because I wasn't going to get into the splash zone of the fucking mess you made of your life and refused to clean up. Because you weren't anyone's fucking problem but your own, Moonie, and you're gone and I'm tired and wishing I was drunk so here we effing are.

You opened the last conversation we ever had with "if I was a guy, what would I be called?" and I dropped everything for twenty minutes looking for the perfect name. Because I thought you might be finally figuring out that getting better starts with you digging your way out of the hole you made.

I said either Martin, or Merrick. One day, when South and I are up on that stage with the Hermits and being interviewed by the cool people at Minecon, I'm going to get a question from the crowd and I'm going to see a nametag with either one of those names, and I'm going to ask if you were the one who wrote Followers of the False Prophecy and when you say yes, I'm going to smile and say it was nice to see you again after all this time, and I'm going to walk away, and you'll never know where I know you from.

And someone else will ask if I know you and I'll laugh and tell them I gave you your name, and that I'm glad you've gotten better, and I'll be proud of you.

And then I'll never think about you again.

I wanted that server to hear what I wish an adult would have told me when I was seventeen and dysphoric and trying desperately to save people who didn't want to be saved. They heard me, and they said thank you, and I told them if they want to thank me, then when they see the opportunity, pay it forward.

I haven't done much good, in the past couple years. Gods know I think I've gotten significantly worse, in many ways, and fixing what I broke is going to require stabbing myself in the chest several times over for fun, repeatedly, possibly for the rest of my life.

But Moonie, time marches on, and the world keeps turning, and we're left with the ashes of people we could have became if we were better from the start.

The crime isn't in falling apart, not really. The crime is in not getting back up again. I take hits. That's what I do. In a crisis I'm the one you should be trusting, because I can get you out of it alive. Turns out, that mentality isn't so good for being a functional person in normal society, and part of me is always waiting for the gunfire and for someone to put an airship wheel in my hands and tell me to dodge the tornadoes.

Part of me will always be waiting for that. Because it served me well in Lore and it served me well against Seth and it's the only reason losing you didn't hurt as much as it could have.

Because I'm not hurt. I'm honestly not, and that's saying something. I'm angry at you. And because you're gone, there's no consequences to yelling at you. After all, you can't take my words and use them to hurt yourself when you're not here to hear them. Now, I don't have to bite back my words, because there's no one here but me.

I don't hate you, Moonie. I never did. I wanted to see you get better. Now, well. Maybe you left so you could start over. That's the optimistic way of looking at it. If not, well, I told your server you weren't going to die because if you were you'd have thrown a party to say goodbye and none of us would have known. By knowing that you weren't okay, we knew you were okay.

Go on. Ask me how I know that. You won't, because you're gone and you've never cared to learn how I got this far. But I was where you are - part of me still is, part of me still doesn't understand why anyone cares about, part of me knows I'm worthless and part of me fully expects everyone to leave me - and you never heard me out when I said that there's more to life than suffering.

I don't really have a place I was going with this. I just wanted to yell at you, for a while, take my anger out on something I don't care about enough to feel bad about hurting. You can't hurt from this, anyway. You're gone.

Maybe when the anger slips out of me, I'll be able to see clearly, and I'll be able to figure out how to get up and move forward and move on. I don't know. I've been so full of rage my entire life and the only way to deal with it is to not acknowledge it. I try not to, because when I do I can almost taste the blood at the back of my throat.

That's the thing, about being 5'0" and 130lbs soaking wet and the baby of the family. Nobody takes me seriously. That's why I'm so angry. That's why I don't recognize my own emotions. Because I'm never heard, and when I am I don't know how to deal with that.

Well, now you hear me. Now you know what it took to get me this far, and how so very much farther I have to go to be a functional person.

Or at least you would have, if you weren't gone.