#hermitcraft fanfic

[thathermitweirdo]

Wrote new chapter of my Grumbo vampire au and hopefully it kills all the Scarian shippers <3

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fandom #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitweirdo writes #hermitcraft au #mumbo jumbo #grian #vampire mumbojumbo #grumbo vampire au #sorry Scarian fans #actually I’m not sorry #suffer

[bropleasejustletmesignuogoddamn]

soo uhmmm does anyone know of a post that describes the hermit’s personalities or how they’re typically described in fanfics??? i plan on making a long-ish au with most (if not all) of the hermits. but i don’t have the time or attention span to watch kore than like 2 hermits

#mumbo jumbo #tangotek #cubfan #grian #docm77 #xisuma #zombiecleo #cleo #hermitcraft #geminitay #stressmonster tag #falsesymmetry #goodtimewithscar #impulse #bdubs #hermitcraft fanfic #ethoslab #hypnotized #jevin #joe hills #pearlescentmoon #rendog #vintagebeef #xbcrafted #zedaph #iskall87 #keralis #welsknight

[hopepetal]

Hi! It's been a while, hasn't it?

@applestruda, @periwinklemoonlight, and I have been working on arc three of the boatem knights au for quite a while now. We hope you enjoy it :)

At the moment, the second chapter is not ready for posting, so it won't be out for a while.

Boatem Knights AU fic masterlist

Read on AO3!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated :)

His nightmares hadn’t gone away.

Feathers rustling in the wind, Grian gazed up toward the night sky. Sighing heavily, he glanced back toward Pearl’s tent. She had offered for him to join her many times– avians were highly sociable after all, and often slept in the same nest– but he’d refused. He wouldn’t want to wake her up as well.

It didn’t make sense. 

Dreams of a desert, of cold silver skin, of red eyes and names and flowers and blood. And every day they’d gotten worse. More vivid.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t something Grian had the energy to figure out right now. He needed sleep.

He stood up and walked back to his own tent, and settled down for what would be another restless night.

And he hadn’t woken up the next day. 

Or the day after that. 

Or the day after that. 

The first day Grian slept through, Pearl hadn’t been too worried. With how bad her brother’s insomnia could get, it wasn’t a rare occurrence for him to not get enough sleep during the night and then make up for it during the day. She’d checked in on him, of course, and smiled softly at the sight of him curled up in his blankets, wings resting on either side of him as he smushed his face into the pillow. 

“He probably just had a rough night,” she mentioned to the others during lunch, “I wouldn’t bother him.”

Mumbo looked up, frowning slightly. “Hasn’t he mentioned having nightmares for a while now? Maybe that’s what’s been keeping him up.”

Pearl nodded, wings fluttering anxiously behind her. “Yeah. The last few months have been rough on him.”

“I think it’s from all the building we have to do,” Scar piped up. “Trying to finish the lodge has been a nightmare.”

“We’re almost done!” Pearl argued, optimistic as ever. “Just a little more, then we’re all set!”

Mumbo slumped back in his seat, letting out a soft huff. “Can’t we just leave it as is? I think it’s perfectly well done.” 

Scar raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk. “I think you just don’t like building, mister.”

Mumbo rolled his eyes, though he was unable to hold back a grin. “Well, it’s certainly not my favorite activity. I’d much rather be–”

“–working on your redstone, we know.” Impulse chuckled, shaking his head. “Unless you want to be buried in snow by the time winter comes around, we probably shouldn’t be calling the lodge ‘perfectly well done’.”

Mumbo grumbled a little at that, much to the amusement of the others. “Look, I’ll do my tasks and everything, but I’m not happy about it!” 

Pearl laughed, leaning against the table. “You gotta weigh your options, mate. Either build the lodge now, or be wet and freezing during the winter. Which one would you prefer?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

The knights quickly finished lunch after that, making small talk as they cleaned and put away the dishes. The leftovers from lunch were stored away for later, placed in the shed they had built a while back so that the wild animals wouldn’t be able to get into their food.

“Same duties as earlier?” Impulse asked Pearl as they all made their way to the half-finished lodge. 

Pearl nodded, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “I don’t see why we would change them. I’ll take on Grian’s duties on top of mine, though I can’t promise I’ll be as fast.”

“Good thing we’re so ahead of schedule, then!” Scar piped up. “It’s a lot easier to focus on one thing instead of a whole bunch of tiny tasks.”

Pearl laughed, her wings fluttering in amusement. “That, and we’re all insanely fast builders. Who would’ve thought?”

Impulse grinned. “Well, I’m just naturally good at everything I do, so I’m not surprised.”

Laughing and joking, the four went about completing their tasks. The sounds of construction filled the air, conversation occasionally popping up alongside it. As the day progressed, it began to get hotter and hotter, construction slowing down as it did so.

Finally, the sun began to set, and their long day of work was called to an end by Mumbo. It was just routine at this point– the knights would work until the sun began to set and then they’d all gather at the west end of camp to watch the sun go down. Mumbo was always the quickest to put away his tools, and today was no different. Impulse and Scar went to join him, while Pearl slipped off to go check on her brother. Just as she had expected, he had barely moved from his sleeping position, only shifted slightly in a likely effort to get more comfortable. She pulled up one of the ottomans, settling down next to his bed. 

Reaching out, Pearl gently brushed some hair out of her brother's warm face, smiling slightly. “Heyyy, Griba,” she murmured, softly so that she wouldn't startle him if he wasn't fully asleep, “you doing alright, mate? You've been asleep all day.” No response. He must've been really out of it. “Well, I brought some food and fresh water. It’ll be on the side table for when you wake up– you must be pretty hungry.” She sighed softly, leaning back. “Well, I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow, Griba. I love you.” 

Standing, Pearl quietly left the tent and joined the other knights to watch the sun finish setting. She settled down next to Scar, leaning against him with a sigh. The grass was soft against her skin as she sat and tried to relax, breathing in the fresh air and exhaling the anxiety that was building in her chest. Her whole body ached from the exertion of a day spent building, and the cool night air that brushed against her skin and wove through her hair was a welcome relief from the end of summer heat. 

Scar glanced over at Pearl, giving her his signature crooked smile. “How’s our sleeping friend holding up?” he asked.

Pearl sighed softly, closing her eyes briefly. “Still sleepin’ the day away,” she answered. “I dropped off some food and water in case he wakes up and needs something. I'm glad he’s getting rest, though. I think I’m gonna keep him from helping us work on the lodge for a bit, though. It can’t be good for him to be exhausted and pushing himself like that.”

“Agreed.” Impulse stretched before running a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding his horns. “It’s hard work we’re doing here, man. Kinda wish Skizz could’ve stayed a little longer to help out, but I guess a man’s gotta do his job.”

“And Tango’s been busy,” Scar added, “apparently he's workin’ on a super secret fly-ification project, whatever that means.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Pearl laughed, Impulse nodding along in agreement. Mumbo’s attention seemed to have been caught by that, and he perked up.

“A project? Do you think he’d let me take a look? I know he had mentioned a few things about combining redstone and engineering and really, it was quite fascinating and we had a truly intriguing discussion on…” Mumbo trailed off, noticing how Pearl and Scar were just staring at him. “...well, Impulse gets me!” he flusteredly got out, and the others began to laugh. 

Impulse smiled, chuckling. The light from the setting sun reflected off his piercings, causing them to shine when they caught the light. “That I do, buddy. That I do.”

Mumbo blinked. “Well. Alright, then.”

Pearl stood as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, stretching her wings as the shadows began to grow over the land. “I don’t know about you, but I am absolutely exhausted. I’m heading off to bed. Good night!” She spread her wings and took off, flying low over the ground until she reached her tent. She landed softly, ducking into her tent and changing into her night clothes– soft blue pajamas with stars and little crescent moons. 

Sleep called her name, and Pearl felt the weight of exhaustion pulling her down. She climbed into bed, settling on her stomach and wrapping her arms around the soft pillow. She’d just barely closed her eyes before sleep descended like a soft blanket, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

Grian didn’t wake up the next day. 

When Pearl woke, her limbs still somewhat sore from the day before, she went to check in on Grian before she started her morning chores. He wasn’t up, which meant he hadn’t woken up during the night and stayed up until dawn (again). Pearl was still a little concerned nonetheless, and rushed through her morning chores so that she could go check on Grian. 

When she peeked into his tent, her worry increased at the fact that he hadn’t touched his food or water, and had barely moved from the sleeping position she’d last seen him in. “Griba?” she called softly, “Griba, hey. Are you up?” Upon receiving no answer, she carefully crept forward and placed a gentle hand against his head. 

Oh, no.

Grian had a fever. 

“Griba.” She gently shook him. “Griba. Grian. Grian. Wake up.” Her voice became more frantic as her brother continued to be unresponsive, anxiety spiking in her chest as she tried to wake him. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t do this, Grian. Please.” 

Still, nothing. 

Pearl’s gaze went to the side table, and she stumbled over, grabbing the pen and some blank paper that had been sitting there. Quickly, she wrote down a message to Cub, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she did so. 

Cub,

I’ve been sending quite a few letters lately and I hate to bother you once more, but Grian is sick. He isn’t waking up, and he slept all through yesterday as well. When I checked on him this morning, he was burning up. I’ve tried waking him up, but he hasn’t even responded. 

Please come as soon as you can. 

Pearl

She began folding the paper as she ducked out Grian’s tent, almost running into Scar as she did so. “Ah! Oh, mate, careful!” 

Scar laughed softly, pressing his hands to his chest. “You scared me, Pearl!” he retorted, taking a moment to calm himself down. He caught sight of the paper in Pearl's hands. “Sending another letter, are we?” he asked. “More moth mail?”

Pearl, despite the anxiety she was currently feeling, had to smile. Rolling her eyes, she responded, “We’re not calling it moth mail, Scar.” She closed her eyes and breathed out, pushing her magic into the paper. It took the form of a moth, glowing with enchantments, and flew off. She was quiet for a moment with Scar as they watched it fly off, before sighing. “Grian’s sick,” she told him, “and he’s not waking up. I was just sending a letter to Cub to ask him to come up and check on him.”

Scar frowned, humming thoughtfully. “And this isn’t just Grian being Grian?” he asked, but Pearl shook her head. 

“He’s not waking up, and he’s running a fever. Which, if he was even responding a tiny bit, would be fine, but he’s not even– it’s like he can’t hear me at all. Normally he’d at least have woken up a little and smacked me away or something, but…” Pearl shook her head. “Nothing. He was just… sleeping.” 

“Should we let the other two know?” Scar asked, gesturing with his head over to where Impulse and Mumbo were. They were working on the lodge once more– Mumbo, struggling to walk with the heavy materials and Impulse, carrying as much as he could and encouraging Mumbo on with a smile and kind words. 

Pearl nodded, already starting to walk toward them. “Absolutely. C’mon, mate!” 

Scar jogged over until he was walking by Pearl's side. “Hey! Mister Mumbo Jumbo! Impulse! Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms over his head. “Over here!”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head slightly. “Scar, no need to shout. They’re right there.” Her wings fluttered anxiously behind her as they approached Mumbo and Impulse. “Hey, you two.”

Impulse set down the logs he had been carrying, and Mumbo did the same before collapsing into the grass. “Heya Pearl,” Impulse greeted, “what’s up?”

“Not good news, unfortunately.” The mood sombered up as soon as those words left Pearl's mouth. “Grian’s sick, and he’s not waking up. I sent a message to Cub, but I’m gonna run to the village real quick to grab some general medicine and such. I meant to get some on the next trip, but…” She trailed off. “Clearly, we need them now.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Impulse offered, to which Pearl shook her head. 

“I’ll be flying. It’s faster that way.” Pearl glanced over at Scar, who had joined Mumbo in the grass. “Can you three keep watch over Griba and the camp while I’m gone? Oh, and keep an eye out for a response to the letter I sent to Cub– it’ll be coming back as an enchanted moth, you know what they look like. I don’t think he’ll be sending you a response this quick, but better alert than caught sleeping.” She coughed slightly. “Uh. Excuse the irony of that wording. It’s just a phrase.”

Impulse nodded. “Don’t worry about a thing, Pearl. We’ve got things handled here. Go and get the medicine.”

Scar stood, helping Mumbo up as well. “Yeah! We’ll stop working on the lodge for a bit while this whole thing is goin’ on. Grian’s more important than a building, anyway.”

Pearl heaved a sigh of relief, smiling softly. “Oh, thank you all. This means a lot.” She stretched, spreading her wings and fluttering them slightly before relaxing. “Right. I’ll be off then. Stay out of trouble, ya hear?”

Scar saluted. “Aye aye!” 

With that, Pearl took off, flying over the camp and toward the village. Worry settled uneasily in her stomach, squeezing her chest as she tried to not spiral into an anxiety attack. It would not be good to do that while flying, she figured. 

Grian would be fine. Grian would be– he was fine, he was just sick and once he got rest everything would go back to normal. They’d continue building the lodge and get it done before winter and then they’d move on to their next adventure. 

Yeah.

Everything was going to be fine. 

In a house surrounded by much more greenery than the canyon that it sat in, Cub was working on a very dangerous project. 

Well, it wasn’t dangerous– as long as he took proper care when he was around it and made sure to wear protective gear, of course. A mask fit snugly over his mouth and nose, and he wore elbow long gloves with his lab coat sleeves tucked into them to make sure there was zero possibility of the subject of his experiment touching his skin. 

Holding up the blue-green mold (sculk, the book had called it) up to the light with a pair of tweezers, Cub squinted. It appeared to almost have a sort of heartbeat, he noticed, as it pulsed rhythmically. It might’ve grossed some out, but it made Cub grin. This was so exciting. He had only heard of sculk before, from ancient books and harrowed miners who had narrowly escaped death. To be able to study it like this, up close… it was a dream come true.

Cub jotted down some more notes with one hand, holding up the sculk with his other hand. His attention divided, focus solely locked in on the things he was writing, it was no wonder he got startled by the enchanted paper moth that landed on his desk. He dropped the tweezers with a loud swear, the sculk landing in his lap. No matter– he simply picked it back up with his gloved hands and put it back into its container, sealing it away. He then carefully unfolded the moth, recognizing instantly Pearl's handwriting. 

He frowned as he read the letter, before sighing heavily. “I really can’t leave them alone for five minutes, can I?” Glancing back down at his desk, Cub bit his lip, weighing his options in his head. He really had to finish this current experiment in a certain time frame, and Grian was a healthy man (and a Watcher, besides!). He’d be fine if he had to wait for a little while longer. 

He went and wrote a response on the back of the letter Pearl had sent, chuckling slightly at how his handwriting compared to Pearl’s. 

Pearl,

I’ll be there as soon as I finish up what I was doing. I assume it’ll take me quite some time, so I’ll head out early tomorrow morning. Keep an eye on Grian, give him some medicine and try to get some fluids into him. 

Don’t panic. Remember what I’ve been telling you in our letters– take a deep breath, calm yourself, and try not to let your thoughts spiral. You’re doing a great job. 

Cub

He carefully folded the paper back up, watching as the magic Pearl imbued into it activated, and the moth sprang to life before fluttering off in the direction it came from. Cub’s sharp eyesight caught the moment it burst into purple sparks of magic and sped off into the distance– “moth mail” always fascinated him. It was clearly a concept Pearl had either made up or been taught, and he’d have to ask her some more questions about it later. 

But for now, the sculk called his name. 

It took a little longer than expected to finish up the experiment, but Cub always stayed true to his word. The next day, he woke up with the gray light of dawn and gathered his things, taking care to lock his door before leaving. 

The sun began to rise as Cub started down the familiar path to the camp.

You know how this story goes, by now. 

Grian didn’t wake up the next day. 

Pearl did her best to follow the advice in Cub’s letter– give Grian fluids, take deep breaths, try not to spiral, try not to spiral, try not to–

She was fine. She was fine. 

…which was why she ended up breaking down into tears when Scar asked her how she was feeling, and felt his arms wrap around her and pull her close. “I’m– I’m sorry, I just–” She gasped for air, squeezing her eyes shut tight as hot tears cooled on her skin. Her hands were trembling as she wrung them together, trying to lean into Scar’s calming presence. 

Scar gently shushed her, carefully patting her back between her wings as he tried to soothe her. “It’s a stressful situation, Pearl,” he murmured, his voice quiet and comforting. “It’s okay to be scared. Did you wanna send a letter to Jimmy or something? I’m sure he would be more than willing to come on up for a little bit to help out.” As he spoke, he pulled away from the hug and summoned Jellie, setting the furry blue familiar on Pearl’s lap. “Pet the Jellie. You’ll feel better.”

Pearl smiled weakly through her tears, beginning to gently stroke Jellie’s fur. She felt the tension begin to leave her body as Jellie started purring, her breathing evening out as the cat curled up on her lap. “No… no, Jimmy worries more than I do, I don’t think it would be good to stress him out over this… because it’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine.”

Scar nodded. “Right you are, Pearl. It’s gonna be just fine. G’s just taking a big ol’ nap right now, sleepin’ off that nasty fever of his. Give him a little longer and he’ll be just like new. Cub will help him out and then he’ll get rid of that darn sickness in no time!”

Mumbo, who was sitting nearby, leaned forward. “Scar is right, you know. This isn’t the first time one of us has come down with a nasty illness of some sort. Grian just needs a little care and rest, I’m sure!”

Pearl nodded, taking in deep breaths as she continued to idly pet Jellie, wiping stray tears from her face. “Thanks, Scar. Mumbo. I needed that.”

Scar smiled reassuringly, giving her a thumbs up. “No problem, Pearl.”

Mumbo simply nodded, smiling. “Of course, mate.”

It wasn’t long after that Cub finally walked out of Grian’s tent, his expression kept carefully neutral. “Hey, you three. Pearl, could I speak with you?”

Pearl nodded, anxiety spiking once more as she prepared herself for whatever Cub was about to tell her. “Yeah. Of course. Scar, do you mind…?” She gestured toward Grian’s tent with a slight nod, standing up from where she had been sitting next to Scar in the grass and handing him Jellie.

Scar jumped up as well, brushing off his pants before taking Jellie and quietly dismissing his familiar. “Of course, my dear Pearl! I’ll keep a close eye on G.” Scar ducked into Grian's tent, going to take a seat on the ottoman that had remained pulled up next to Grian’s bed. He settled himself down, letting out a soft sigh and leaning forward. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Y’know, G, this isn’t funny anymore.” Scar swallowed dryly, licking his cracked lips. “I’m all for pranks and stuff, but this is going too far. Pearl’s upset, Mumbo is worried, Impulse is trying to keep the other two calm, and I’m…” He shook his head. “C’mon, G. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Please.” 

No response. Of course. Grian was asleep, why would he respond? 

“I mean, really. It's like you’ve been cursed or something,” he weakly joked, before the thought really hit him. Could Grian have been…?

Scar closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shifted into his vex form. 

The smell of magic, powerful and wrong, was so strong Scar nearly gagged. He stumbled back, eyes widening as he realized that the magic was coming from Grian, wrapping around his body and curling around his throat. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Scar approached Grian and knelt by the bed. Reaching out, he carefully opened one of Grian’s eyes with his hand. 

Purple. 

Grian’s eyes were glowing purple. 

Scar felt the magic suddenly recede, drawing into Grian like the water being pulled back into the sea. With a sharp inhale, he stumbled back, shifting out of his vex form as he burst out from the tent. “Guys!” he yelled, “guys, something's wrong with–!”

Grian’s magic exploded outwards.

Pearl screamed, lunging forward as she shifted into her Watcher form, wrapping her arms around the only person close enough for her to protect– Mumbo. The two fell to the ground, surrounded by a translucent magic shield that glowed in blue and silver hues. All around them, purple magic swirled and raged like a storm, and all they were able to do was watch as Impulse and Scar collapsed. 

Cub was pushed to his knees, vex form flickering as his own shield began to crack around him. The magic howled in a screeching voice, swirling around Cub’s shield in an attempt to break through and take him as well. 

“Pearl–!” Mumbo cried out, clinging to her tightly. He was pressed against the ground and could hardly see past Pearl, but what he could see terrified him. Pearl’s shield was beginning to give under the incessant pushing of Grian’s out of control magic, and there was nothing he could do but watch.

Pearl bit out a sob, holding Mumbo close. The strain of fighting against her brother’s magic had her gasping, grabbing for any and all energy she had to pour into the shield around her and Mumbo. Raising her head, guilt and fear filled her chest as she caught sight of Impulse and Scar, limp on the ground. She could only pray that they were okay. That they were alive. 

The magic like raging wind reached a peak, screaming so loud Pearl’s sensitive ears ached. And just like that, it was over.

Pearl, Cub, and Mumbo were the only ones awake when their shields came down.

All across the realm, Grian’s magic reached out and pulled others into a deep sleep. A king and his hand, alongside his best soldier. A huntsman. A time wizard, armorer, and a friend of the nearby innkeep. A man who guided others through the mountains. An avian, netherborn, and a man who sold flowers. 

One by one, they were surrounded by purple magic, angry and screaming and wanting. And one by one, they all fell asleep. 

Grian woke up to impossibly familiar faces and one objective: survive. 

He pushed himself up from the ground, shaking his head slightly to clear the fuzz as he looked around at the gathered group. “Welcome to Third Life,” he greeted in a voice that wasn’t quite his own, with words he wasn’t sure how he knew. “You all have three lives. Once you lose your last life, you are out.”

Confusion and concern echoed from those around him, and Grian raised his voice. “When you are on your last life– your red life– you will become hostile. All previous alliances will be broken.”

A deep breath.

“Good luck.”

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #cubfan135 #jellie the cat #hermitcraft fanfic #third life fanfic #third life

[erdasmcnonsense]

"Say... has Joe always had those colorful floaty eye-thingies around his head?" Scar asks, absentmindedly stroking the fletchings of an arrow.

"I don't think so?" answers Grian, perched on the railing of the HotGuy Tower. "You hear that clinking of chains around him more often these days, too."

The two are silent for a moment, watching Joe play Beef's card game with Cleo. Even from this distance, they can occasionally catch a flash of color from one of the little floating eyes near him.

"Why do you think that is?"

"I think it's Them", Grian says.

"What do you mean "Them"?"

"Eh, you know. Just Them. You know what I mean, right? They can change us, sometimes. Haven't you noticed?"

"I really don't get what you're talking about."

"I wasn't like this-" for a moment Grian is surrounded by a soft purple glow and a halo of eyes, not in all colors of rainbow like Joe's, but purple like the light around him "-before They decided I was, either."

"But I thought that was the Watcher thing?"

"I mean, it sorta was. But it wasn't. I wasn't like this when I first became a Watcher. This happened when They decided that's what Watchers are like."

"Joe's not a Watcher, though, is he?" asks Scar, frowning.

"Nah, he's Something Else."

"You know, it's weird, but recently I've felt like something's changed", Scar says. "Like I don't know what, but something's different. Dreams of like, arenas and fighting people, some of them ones I've never even met. And it's like there's thousands of voices in the back of my head, cheering me on. It's very distracting."

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"Is that Them too?"

"Probably. Almost definitely, actually."

"I feel like I'm sort of racing, competing with Joe, and I'm not even sure what it's about."

"Yeah, that's Them playing games. You don't have to pay too much attention to it, if you don't want to. It might not be a good idea, anyway. Sometimes They like attention, and then sometimes they run and scatter and hide if you give Them any, and you never know what it'll be this time." Grian shrugs. "The good news is though, if Joe has changed because of Their game, he might change back once it's over or They get bored of the game."

"Might?"

"Yeah, might. Or it might stick. They're fickle creatures, it's hard to tell beforehand."

"You know an awful lot about them", Scar points out.

"That's because They used to be Watchers. Until They decided They weren't, but I still was, and made Watchers be something else instead and became not-Watchers."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right. It doesn't. I think that's how They like it."

Before Scar can ask more questions, Grian spreads his wings and takes off.

#I can't believe the first ficlet i write of hermitcraft is... whatever this metaphysical nonsense of the sexyman competitions is #joe hills #goodtimeswithscar #grian #hermitcraft fanfic #mcytblr sexyman #(sort of anyway) #hermitcraft

[these-godforsaken-halls]

from quality entertainment (ao3) — took a little break from writing and sketched some of my favorite scenes so far.

next chapter comes out on wednesday!! twill be an intense one >:)

#hermitblr #scarian #desert duo #hermitcraft #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fanfic #watcher grian #watchers #cw scopophobia

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

Grian had barely moved.

He stood on the pier, still as a statue. The only sign of movement was when his line shifted. With a deft flick of his wrist, the rod would jerk up, and his catch would detach from the hook and land neatly in his waiting inventory. He’d mastered the action by now, replicating it almost exactly at irregular intervals.

His legs didn’t burn. His arms didn’t ache. He felt oddly at peace, serene, a fish gently following the current.

No, more than that. The current itself. On occasion, Grian could hear the ocean beckoning to him, and he’d walked into its clutches just for a moment.

Of course, to an outsider, he just look like he was wading into the water and coming back out with his pants soaking wet. Gem informed him he looked like a madman.

“The ocean talks,” he told her.

“It should tell you you’re insane,” she said, before bounding back to her ship and casting her own line as well.

“Well, you fish as well!” He yelled.

“At least I don’t try and drown myself like some sort of…” Gem’s voice faded out.

Grian sighed, shook his head and turned back to the water.

Not that he would admit it, but there were some signs that Gem was right. Him slowly turning into water, for one.

That is, seawater, not some block of sloshing liquid. He’d even consulted Jevin, who said it was definitely not slime. He’d cautiously licked his own hand and found it salty.

Whatever it was, his hands were turning less solid everyday. Sometimes they passed through the rod entirely, and he would yelp and fall into the water with a splash. Then he’d get up and it was fine again.

He swore Jevin to secrecy. He didn’t know what the other fishermen would do if they found out that he was literally becoming the ocean. Gem would gloat, for sure.

But all this he treated with a dismissive nonchalance compared to the fishing.

Oh, he switched it up a bit. Two, no, five rods.

If only something could mend him, yeah? Like, a mending book? I’ve fished thousands of times and you’re giving me rubbish!

He yelled at the ocean.

Two days later he wondered if it was mad at him about it because the slightest bit of tension started to enter his legs.

He sat down. His body ached anyway, after weeks of fishing day and night. His eyes felt sore, but he refused to look in a mirror to confirm that there were eyebags.

Should he apologise to the ocean? No. That was definitely crazy territory.

As if turning into water wasn’t, his brain screamed at him. He ignored it.

“You’re crazy,” Gem told him plainly, as she boated past.

“I just need mending,” he said. Gem left to build or something. So far, Grian had built half a base and a pier for fishing.

Oh well. That wasn’t really important.

He sat and fished.

-

i’ve been wanting to write something for grian since he started fishing… oh boy

this post also serves as a self-reminder that i have other blorbos besides gem and pearl

#grian #geminitay #hermitcraft #hermitcraft smp #hermitblr #hermitcraft s10 #hermitcraft season 10 #hermitcraft season ten #hc10 #hc s10 #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft 10 #grian fanfic

[vital-vessals]

Finished the cover art for part 1 of my sculk-y Decked Out 2 AU!!! It starts during double life (thus the ranchers outfit) and then goes on into decked out! I will put a link to the fic on ao3 in the replies :D

#occlusion au #tangotek #tangotek fanart #hermitcraft fanfic #i suddenly have forgotten how to tag things . uhhh . thumbs up !

[the-joju-experience]

Grian jumped when he heard the knock on his door. He went over to open it, and found Impulse waiting for him.

“Hi, Grian,” Impulse said.

“Hey, Impulse!” Grian said. “What’s going on?”

“This isn’t actually a social visit, unfortunately,” Impulse said. “I’m here from the Hermit HOA.”

“There’s a Hermit HOA?”

“Well, yeah,” Impulse said. “A few of us were talking, and we realized we needed some better organization around these things.”

“What does this HOA want?” Grian asked suspiciously.

“Well, some of us have been a little worried about the… uh… backofyourbase,” Impulse rushed.

“The what now?” Grian asked.

“I don’t really want to be the one to tell you this,” Impulse said. “Give me a second.”

Impulse sprinted out of Grian’s door, leaving it open. A second later, Gem appeared in the frame, pushing Impulse back in.

“Grian, you need to finish the back of your base,” Gem said.

“I did!” Grian insisted.

“I don’t think a big smiley face counts,” Impulse said.

“It definitely doesn’t,” Gem said.

“Did you bring Gem to be the bad cop?” Grian asked.

“Technically, I brought him as the good cop,” Gem corrected.

“Fair enough.”

“Stop right there!” A man said. The hero of the downtrodden, defender of the gays, and some guy from Nashville, Joe Hills himself, invited himself into Grian’s home. “HOAs are predatory enough! We will not stand for one here on Hermitcraft! As long as there is life in my body and blood in my blocky veins, Hermits shall have their freedom from the tyranny of Homeowners’ Associations!”

“Joe, we’re doing this because Grian really needs to finish the back of his base,” Gem said.

“Oh, is that what this is?” Joe asked. “My bad. Grian, you really should finish the back already. Still, homeowners’ associations do tend to be a net negative, and I’m not the biggest fan, so maybe pick a different way to go about this, guys.”

"We’ll workshop it,” Impulse promised.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #fanfic #grian #impulse #geminitay #joe hills

[eloquentornot]

So, that was all of it sorted. The last few Reapers, all satisfied their debts, and the winner's coronation was her immolation.

But what then, for her? For False, the lone Reaper…

The game was over, wasn't it? But, how could it be? How could it be?

What a prize, to be the last one standing, and at the very end to fall… to be the last of the Reapers, with no-one left whose death could satisfy…

Thankfully, there was one who could solve this. One who never fell to the Reaper curse… for how could he? To him, these Reapers had been mere children, their bloodlust simple teething pains… yes, he had satisfied his need for gruesome and violent deaths long ago…

Zedaph patted False on the back, as she finally arrived back at the Hermit Permits ceremony.

"Congratulations, False!" he said, as he briefly, and gently, reached into her soul. Just for long enough to lift the offending weight. He had already agreed with Grian beforehand that this would be how it should end, of course.

False was none the wiser, and as far as the hermits knew, the game had simply ended with her. Some might wonder why she never grew red, and might come to the conclusion that the game had ended at the precise moment after the Reapers had killed her but before she had respawned, that the bloodlust had simply never reached her. Not that she would ever need help being the Queen of Hearts, Heads and Body Parts, of course!

Later that evening, Zedeath held the red spark he thought he had pulled from the False Symmetry. He frowned. It glared back. It was far, far too small, to have been truly what remained. Death grew concerned. The False Symmetry had appeared to contain only one soul and body, in recent times. The other, lost, sent to a realm beyond his reach.

But Reapers worked beyond space and time, sometimes.

As the last echo of the spark vanished from his palm, he wondered… where had it really gone?

One Season Previously…

It arrived. This was it. This was the hidden memory, the anxiety it had seen… the only candidate greater than this False… was the other! The True, as it were!

Underscored by a deeper pain, near-identical yet just a little more… fresh.

#hermitcraft fanfic #falsesymmetry #two of her #zedeath

[frozenjokes]

hey who was going to tell me mumbo talked about growing gills in his whatever new episode was I just supposed to find out for myself (someone did tell me I should watch it. I forgot. Anyway)

MUMBOMAIDMUMBOMAIDMUMBOMAIDMUMBAOMAID

I wish someone would write a fic about mumbo but he’s a mermaid that would be crazy if someone wrote that and there was like a language barrier and they’re all struggling to understand each other and goodtimeswithscar is aromantic that would be nuts if someone wrote that OH WAIT!?!??!!

art is all platonic btw but the fic has shipping

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitfic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #mumbomaid au #mumscarian #hermitshipping

[doodlingdilemma]

Happy 2. Anniversary to the fic that got me back into reading fanfiction

Truly a piece of art

The EHK series by @mawofthemagnetar

Also some more doodles I made before this piece

Originally I just wanted to draw Keralis with a party hat and then I was like "Nuh Uh" and took the time I still had (4 days) to create the drawing above

#mcyt fanart #mcyt #digital illustration #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #my art #keralis fanart #keralis #EHK #eldritch horror keralis #tinfoilchef #tfc fanart #xbcrafted fanart #xbcrafted #technically all the hermits are represented here #hermitcraft fanfic #dilemma art and stuff

[thefireintheshadow]

He’d done it. He’d gotten his mending book.

[authors note: this seems like a cute little fic about grian and his mending book but it is in fact a dark mafia fic jsyk…]

Grian couldn’t believe it had finally happened. It was so surreal that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He went through the motions of cleaning himself up. It felt good to shave, see some color on his cheeks. Even his eyes were brighter.

When he returned to the dock to clean up all of his fishing gear, there was a silhouette in the setting sun. He couldn’t make out who it was, a broad frame almost haloed in glittering red.

“Hello, Grian.”

He squinted. “Beef?” As he grew closer, he could make out the source of the glittering, a suit that appeared to be crafted from salmon scales. “Wow.”

“Been doing a lot of fishing lately?” Beef asked, running a hand up one of the pillars of the little hut.

Something felt off in Grian’s gut. Something in his friend’s tone felt…predatory. It couldn’t be. This was Beef. He was one of the sweetest guys around. “You could say that,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “But I’m all good now, got my mending book.”

“Is that so?” Beef cocked a brow, and stuck both hands in his pockets, as if on a casual stroll. Something in his gait screamed danger, though, and was this just too much time spent in death games? Was this overflow from Secret Life and Demise and—

Beef stopped on the block over Grian’s storage room. No.

“Why don’t you come on downstairs?” Beef asked, but it was hardly a request. “Because somehow I don’t think you’re all good.”

He pulled out a handful of seeds and composted them, disappearing through the floor.

Grian’s pulse thundered in his ears. What the hell was going on? How did Beef find out about his secret area? And what the hell was up with that suit? His head spun.

On the surface this would look like a fun prank. A bit.

But it didn’t feel like a bit. It didn’t feel fun.

He didn’t want to go down there.

But something told him he needed to, some instinct buried deep. Though surely Beef just wanted to make a deal for something in the chests down there, right?

Heart hammering, he composted and dropped down.

But there was nobody there. His guts twisted. Beef meant down downstairs. This was getting weirder and weirder, and that sense of danger felt sharper and heavier.

He dropped down into the cave and his heart ceased to work.

He couldn’t quite register at first the tableau in front of him. His gaze zeroed in on Mumbo’s face, beautiful skin marred by blood and tears.

“Grian! They’ve gone-” Mumbo cried, but his words choked off on a scream as a sickening snap echoed and suddenly time seemed to stop.

Grian’s ears buzzed, as if no other senses other than his sight were capable of working at a time. Mumbo was on his knees, hands behind his back, face twisted in pain. Skizz stood behind him, muscled arms gleaming as he took the kneeling man’s disheveled hair in one of his fists.

Skizz didn’t look quite right, though. His eyes were too big, almost bulbous, and too far apart. His face shone with what Grian had at first thought was sweat, but no, it was as if his skin were made of…scales? And nowhere was that soft, sweet, fun-loving Skizz energy. He looked maniacal. A maniacal, half-mutated fish man.

And Beef. Beef in his salmon-scaled suit, still cool as a cucumber, hands in his pockets, watching the scene with detachment.

Grian sucked in a deep, ragged breath as his lungs screamed for air, and time seemed to start again, his brain somehow catching up with the fact that he couldn’t just watch the scene forever.

“Walk with me, Grian,” Beef said, strolling towards the redstone door.

“No!” Grian cried, his entire body quivering. “What are you doing to Mumbo? Skizz!” He took a step forward, but in a flash, Skizz jerked Mumbo’s head back, exposing the tender flesh of his throat, and pressed a glittering diamond sword against it.

“I already broke his wrist, want another lesson?” he warned, and something was wrong with his voice, it sounded so distorted.

“My associate here will take good care of Mumbo,” Beef said as the door opened. “I’d like you to show me this room.”

Grian swallowed hard, staring at Mumbo with desperate eyes, the man he cared about most in this world, the man he’d do anything for. Somehow, somehow he’d fucked up and now Mumbo was in pain and there was fucking nothing he could do. Why hadn’t he brought any weapons down here? Why hadn’t he acted on his instincts up there…god.

A drop of crimson beaded on Mumbo’s throat, and he hissed in pain.

“You’d better go, your little friend has thin skin,” Skizz warned gleefully.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Grian said, forcing his feet to move, one in front of the other, towards Beef, towards the door…away from Mumbo. “Please stop hurting him.” The words came out so disgustingly weak sounding, and he hated it. He wanted to press his thumbs into Skizz’s mutant eyes until they popped out of his fucking head, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything.

Skizz lowered the sword at least, and Grian scurried after Beef into the manifest room.

“Tell me about this,” Beef said once the door closed behind them, spreading his arms.

“It’s my…my manifesting mending room,” Grian said, and it sounded so stupid now. He had to admit he’d gone a little batshit with all of that fishing, with his obsession. What did this have to do with Beef and Skizz, though?

Beef pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It looks to me like a cod-worshipping room,” he said.

Grian’s blood rushed through his ears. Was this what this was all about? Types of fish? “No, they were just, easier to build statues of,” he insisted. “The color palette-”

“I don’t believe you,” Beef snarled, and his blazing anger was so jarring after being calm for the entire exchange. “Big Cod is trying to get a foothold here and my employer is not going to let that happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Grian asked, head spinning. “This is literally just for me, you can see my painting at the other end-”

“I saw the painting,” Beef interrupted, turning his back, clasping his hands there, walking down the platform to look at the painting in question. “Quite an expensive piece, for a fisherman.”

Grian scrubbed his hands down his face. “Well I’m not just a fisherman-”

“No, you’re not,” Beef said, whirling on his heel. “You know, my original thought when I was tasked with eliminating the cod threat was just to blow this whole thing to hell with you inside it.” He raised a finger. “But I thought, no need to make such a mess. I think I can bring you to heel with the right motivation.”

As if in cue, the redstone door opened, and Skizz dragged Mumbo in, shoving him back to his knees. His nose was freshly bleeding, and he looked about to collapse completely.

“Beef, please, whatever you think this is, it’s not,” Grian begged, whirling back towards him. “I swear I don’t know anything about…big cod-I just-”

There was a thump and Mumbo groaned.

Grian whirled again as Skizz pressed his boot against the man’s back, shoving him into the floor.

“Stop hurting him!” Grian cried, turning back to Beef. “Please, what do you need me to do? Just stop hurting him!”

Beef reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar – since when did he smoke? – and flicked a zippo, taking his time lighting it evenly. He puffed, then tossed the zippo over his shoulder, landing it neatly at the bottom of the painting.

It went up quickly. Grian watched the flames, swallowing hard. He was happy to trade the painting for Mumbo’s safety, but it was still hard to watch it go up like that.

“Since you have your mending book, you won’t be needing that anymore,” Beef said, smoke trailing as he strolled up the walkway, free hand back in his pocket. “And since you’re certainly not working for Big Cod, you won’t need this room anymore. Dismantle it. Destroy it.” He pointed at Grian, cigar smoldering between his fingers. “I will be checking. And you don’t want to have this meeting again, do you? Who could I motivate you with next? Gem? Or how about Scar?”

Grian shook his head vigorously. “No, you don’t have to motivate me, I’ll do it.” He took a step back. “Please, just let Mumbo go and I’ll do it right now.”

Beef patted him on the cheek, chuckling as the sickly-sweet smoke made him cringe. “Yes you will,” he said, and stalked past him, snapping his fingers on his way by Skizz. “Kill him.”

Grian screamed, launching himself towards them, but he was too late, Skizz stabbed Mumbo through the back of the skull and Grian landed on the hard floor, next to the bundle of bloodied ropes left behind.

“I don’t want to see your face on the surface until it’s done,” Beef said as Skizz crossed the threshold. “Or else.”

The door closed, leaving Grian alone and sobbing on the floor.

[read on ao3]

#I couldn’t help it #hermitshipping #grumbo #hermitblr #hermitcraft #brainrot #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #grumbo fanfic #big salmon #big salmon fanfic #ao3 #dark fanfic #dark salmon #salmon mafia #what are these tags idk

[hopepetal]

Hi!

So @applestruda and I have been working on a little thing for the boatem knights au. I hope you enjoy this next arc of the story as much as we do.

You can find the masterlist of the previous bkau fic here, and I will be posting this on ao3 as well.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated :)

Impulse was painfully, bitterly, human. Just a normal guy, with normal hair and normal eyes and friends that were anything but. Even Mumbo, who he'd thought to be his one human companion, turned out to be something different. Something special.

When it had finally been revealed to the knights that Mumbo was, in fact, a shapeshifter, no one was really surprised. With the amount of non-humans in the group, and magically gifted ones besides, it was only a matter of time before Mumbo revealed that he was obviously, not human.

While they were all joking around and laughing over Mumbo's newly revealed ability, Scar had turned to Impulse with that friendly smile of his and asked, “So, when are you gonna reveal your super secret backstory to us, Impulse?”

Impulse had laughed off the pang of bitterness and guilt combined (and how stupid was that, feeling guilty over the fact that he didn't have a special ability or secret backstory to reveal?) and shook his head. “Nah,” he had responded with a shrug, “I'm just a guy. Just Impulse.”

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

Simple words that had become a mantra over the past few days, lingering in the back of Impulse's mind. A whispered chant, just audible enough to catch his attention but hardly loud enough to deserve a shushing. They were an apt description of what he was– of who he was, of course, and Impulse knew that. He had known that all his life, and, up until this point, had convinced himself that he was fine with that.

(He never had been ‘fine’ with it in the first place. It’s why he trained from dawn till dusk for years, honing his strength and skills. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t breathe underwater, couldn’t withstand a fiery blaze, and most certainly couldn’t teleport. But he was smart, and he was strong, and that was enough. Wasn’t it?)

Mumbo was good with redstone, too. He was a genius, even. What with his constant inventions and how he thought outside of the traditional redstone conventions, and the way he brushed off any compliments with a wave and a soft, “It’s quite simple, really.” 

Impulse’s mother had told him that everyone was special. That they were all made up of stardust and the love of the universe. It was an old wive’s tale, but it had been comforting. 

Now, surrounded by shapeshifters and avians and magical beings, Impulse was wondering if the universe forgot to give him a little stardust.

The sun had just begun to rise, bathing the world in its golden light, as Impulse got dressed and headed out to the makeshift training area to work on his swordplay. It wasn’t long before he was hacking away at one of the many training dummies the knights had made together in an effort to “work on their arts and crafts skills”, going through the familiar motions of a swordfight. 

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

He’d always wondered what it was like to fly. To dive deep into the ocean, without fear of drowning. To never feel the terrible pain of burns, or to get to where you wanted to be instantly.

Just a guy. Just Impulse. 

It wasn’t like being a human was bad. Not at all! Being human was great! He didn’t have to worry about getting hurt by the rain, or his wings being targeted in battle, or, void forbid, being hunted for sport. He could do so much as a human! 

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Just a guy.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he continued fighting, his breaths coming in short pants. In his mind’s eye, the training dummy was an enemy, and it was his job to defeat it. Slicing and stabbing and slashing, Impulse went back and forth in a dance all his own, in a battle that held no weight on the future. 

Just–

“Impulse?”

Pulled from his reverie, Impulse stumbled to a rather clumsy halt, his sword arm falling to his side as he looked over for who called his name. Standing at the edge of the arena was Pearl, leaning against the little wooden fence that surrounded it. She wore a bright smile as always, but something akin to concern shone in her eyes, barely hidden.

“Huh?” Impulse got out, before blinking and shaking his head. “Sorry, Pearl, I uh– I didn’t see you there. Were you calling me?” His muscles were aching, and he was absolutely drenched in sweat. Just how long had he been training for?

Pearl nodded. “Yeah, mate. You were fighting that dummy with the intention to kill, huh?” she joked, gesturing to the very much falling apart training dummy. She continued, “You were training for a while. Lost in your own world, were ya?”

Impulse glanced up at the sky, internally wincing at how high the sun had climbed without him noticing. “Yeahhh…” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Kinda got caught up in my own thoughts, y’know.” He looked over at the training dummy. “Uh… sorry, mister dummy,” he apologized awkwardly, which Pearl found hilarious judging by her soft laughter. 

“You should come get some breakfast and wash up,” Pearl advised, “I’m heading to the village in a bit to pick up some stuff– do you wanna come with?”

Impulse shrugged, before walking over to where Pearl was and hopping the fence. “Sounds like fun, and I don’t have anything else planned.” 

Pearl grinned, and gave Impulse a fistbump. “Great! I’ll go get the horses ready, if you wanna go eat and change real quick?”

“Will do!” Impulse gave her an over the top salute. “Thanks, Pearl!” 

He began to head back to his tent at a slow jog, and decided that maybe it was best if he ignored that soft voice in his head. His friends were incredibly perceptive, and the last thing that he wanted was for them to get all worried about him and start asking questions. 

Would they judge you? Call you jealous? 

Maybe. And maybe Impulse was jealous, at least a little. Did that make him a bad person? For wishing he could be more than what he was? For hoping that he had some chance at standing on the same level as his friends?

Impulse tried to shake those thoughts out of his head as he quickly scarfed down some breakfast and changed out of his sweat-soaked training clothes. Pearl had just finished with getting the horses ready by the time Impulse returned, and greeted him with a smile. “Ready to go?”

Impulse returned her grin as he mounted his horse. “You know it. Road trip time!” 

The trip to the village was a short but pleasant ride through the forest, on a well-worn path the knights had traveled many times. Impulse and Pearl made idle conversation as they rode, Pearl mentioning that she wanted to stop by a couple of shops and the library. They arrived at the village after about thirty minutes and dismounted, tying their horses reins to the hitching post before grabbing their bags and walking into the village.

Impulse had been here before, of course, but visits had been rare recently with… well, everything that had happened. It was nice to get back out and just walk through the village, without any life-threatening or world-ending danger looming over their heads. And as a bonus, he got to hang out with Pearl, which he always enjoyed. 

They went through the shops one by one, Pearl picking up supplies and things they had run out of. Eventually, they were finished, and Pearl pulled Impulse rather excitedly toward the library. He didn’t blame her– he was the exact same way around candy shops. Everyone needed a place that they were excited to go to, in his opinion. 

The librarian– a woman with messy black hair– looked up from behind the counter and greeted them with a nod, before going back to reading her book. Impulse caught a glimpse of the name tag that was pinned to her shirt, the name ‘Evelyn’ written in neat cursive. 

Pearl led Impulse into a room full of bookshelves and, of course, books. “I’m going to go look for some books,” she whispered to him, “you can go off and see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Impulse nodded. “Alright. See you in a bit,” he whispered back, and watched Pearl disappear into the maze of bookshelves. 

Looking around, Impulse began to wander. The library was well stocked with literature on nearly every subject he could think of, with golden labels on the end of every bookshelf to indicate what the books in that particular section were about. He found himself walking past the shelves that normally would’ve had his attention– books about redstone and industry ignored as he gazed at the shelves. 

Finally, a particular bookshelf caught his eye. The label told him that the books here were about all things supernatural, and with a shrug, he began to walk through the aisle. Most books seemed to be rather thick, scholarly texts, which made sense given the topic. A couple books drew his attention– an old book with a faded purple cover and block letters that spelled out Evolution in all capitals, a book on curses, and a book that probably had been misplaced, given its title– The Legend of Theseus. The mythology shelf was right next to the supernatural one, so Impulse took the book and brought it back to where it was hopefully supposed to be. 

Once the book was back in the mythology section– next to a very old book with a cracked spine and strange symbols on the cover– Impulse headed back to the supernatural section, glancing over the titles with relative disinterest until a particular book caught his eye. He bent down and carefully took it from the shelf, instinctively brushing off the cover and flipping it open to the cover page. Skimming the summary of the book, Impulse found himself nodding along to the words.

He closed the book and glanced around. Pearl was nowhere to be seen, so he likely still had some time. Tucking the book under his arm, Impulse walked back to the main room of the library, placing the book on the counter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Evelyn looked up from her book. “I’d like to check this out, please.” 

Evelyn took the book, looking at the spine and writing down something on the sheet in front of her. “An’ what’s your name, sir?” she asked, not looking up from the sheet. 

Impulse blinked. “Ah– uh, Impulse.”

Evelyn wrote his name down, before setting her red feather pen down and handing him the book. “Alright, sir. If you’d please return this by the end of next month, and no writin’ or rippin’ any pages out unless you wanna pay for it.”

Impulse took the book and placed it in his bag with a thank you, just as Pearl returned with her collection of books. She gave him a smile, which Impulse returned– albeit a little nervously. 

As they were walking out of the library, Pearl asked Impulse if he had seen anything he liked. Impulse answered with a shrug and a shake of his head. “Nah. I’m not much of a reader.”

Something must’ve spooked the horses while they were gone, as Impulse’s horse was clearly nervous when they returned. He calmed the horse down with a bit of petting and a treat Pearl had bought for their horses before mounting up and beginning the journey back home.

It was a little past noon when they returned, and they were greeted by Scar and a barely awake Grian. Mumbo was busy working on something, but he soon ran over to say hi and help with the supplies and horses. 

The rest of the day went by as normally as it could– it was a calm day for the most part, the only “mishap” being Grian stealing Mumbo’s rocket launcher as revenge for drawing a mustache on him while he slept. They all ate dinner together as they usually did, and after, Impulse left to go to his tent.

Finally alone and in the quiet, Impulse took the book out from his bag, brushing his fingers over the title. 

The Art of Summoning - Demons. 

He opened the book.

Obviously, a book given out at a library wasn’t about to teach him how to summon a demon– void knows he didn’t want to do that, anyway– but Impulse had always been fascinated by demons. He had been told a lot of stories as a child, which probably was the reason for his interest, but there was also… something else. He had been drawn– pulled to this book, almost. As if by magic, or something. 

…some demons can grant their summoner a wish– whether it be super strength, speed, or even flight, there have been records of people making a contract with a demon for their own benefit. When asked why, many of their answers were similar. They wanted to be unique, or special, and had become desperate.

That… sounded familiar. Impulse pressed his lips together in a thin line as he continued to read. He obviously wasn’t desperate enough to summon a demon– he doubted he would even be able to if he wanted to! Which he didn’t. Because that would be crazy. 

As he went to turn the page, a sharp pain shot through the tip of his finger. Impulse sucked in air through his teeth as he yanked his hand away, examining the fresh papercut. “Oh, come on…” He shook out his hand, annoyed, before going to flip the page. 

As soon as he touched the book, Impulse found that his fingers were almost glued to the page. He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t pull the book off his hand, though he tried frantically to do so. It was then that he noticed a small bead of blood had welled up from the cut, and smeared on the page when he had gone to flip it again. 

That… was probably bad.

Just as he was considering calling for help, a soft voice spoke up in his mind. Not soft enough to be inaudible, but not loud enough to be quieted. 

Hello.

Impulse tensed up, looking around the tent. “...I didn’t mean to summon you,” he began, “assuming you’re…?”

A demon? The voice was… quite pleasant, actually. Not like anything Impulse had thought a demon would sound like. Yes, I am one. And you haven’t summoned me. Just drawn my attention. I’ve been trapped in this book for quite some time, you see. It’s been a long while since anyone has opened it.

“Why were you trapped inside the book?” Impulse asked, still on edge. “What did you do?”

Well, that’s rude. The demon sounded as if it were pouting, as if Impulse had offended it. I didn’t do anything. I just… It sighed, and its voice took on a tone of loneliness. I was young when I came to this world. I… wanted to be different, I guess, from the rest of the demons. Everyone had this cool thing going for them… one could curse multiple people at once, one could take human form, and everyone else… had something that made them special. I didn’t. I’m just your regular ol’ demon, residing in your thoughts.

Impulse frowned, settling the book carefully on his lap. “So… why did you get put in the book?”

I’m getting to that. I… got excited. I wanted to show everyone that I was special, too, by cursing someone. I didn’t really think things through. The demon paused. I don’t even want to curse someone, anymore. I just want to go home.

“I’m… sorry…” Impulse began, “that sounds really rough.” He sighed, leaning back slightly. “I get it, though, as crazy as that sounds.” He briefly debated on whether or not he should tell someone– a demon, no less– about what he’d been going through. “I’m… the only human in my friend group,” he started, hesitant, “and it’s just… I’ve always been just a guy. Just Impulse. And no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to change that.”

There was a moment of silence, and Impulse could almost feel the demon thinking. Well… maybe you could. Maybe, we could both help each other out.

Impulse’s brow furrowed. “What are you thinking of?” 

I know, you were against summoning demons earlier, but… hear me out, okay? I could tell you how to summon me, and not only would that free me from this book, but I could also maybe grant your wish! 

The demon sounded… genuinely so excited at the prospect of being freed. Being trapped, all alone, for however long it had been, must’ve been really difficult. Impulse didn’t blame the demon for wanting to be free. He would want the same thing, were he in the demon’s position. 

…and maybe, just maybe, a small, selfish part of him spoke up and influenced his reasoning. But Impulse closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Alright. I’ll help you. Tell me how to summon you.”

Excellent choice! Alright, first things first, you’re going to…

Impulse was painfully, bitterly human.

He refused to be just Impulse forever. 

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic

[traffrogers]

more ocean explorer au,,, they are living in my brain

Mumbo and Grian have been researching the guardians under Scar for many years, with little success. The guardians violent and dangerous nature made them very difficult to observe, let alone get close to and capture. Mumbo grew tired of the project a long time ago - even his spirit for technological innovation dropped. Grian, on the other hand, is determined to find the right samples and prove his theories or his rivals in the scientific community will be proven correct. When Gem and Etho are hired, and begin finding evidence of elder guardian migration among the artifacts, Grian and Mumbo’s years of research begin to click into place, and the cycle that the two of them are stuck in begins to shift.

[Image Description: illustrations of grian looking stressed and overtired in different situations; marching along staring at his phone; looking towards the audience, hand on a graph in the background; sharing at a laptop while sitting in an armchair. In one image, mumbo stands holding a round glass helmet while Grian wears a puffy spacesuit-like garment. Mumbo says "does it fit"? Beside the illustrations, there is a title: Ocean Explorer AU - Grian (+ mumbo) Bullet points below read:

very stressed marine biologist

does not sleep but if he did would dream of fish

both he + mumbo are employed by scar

Grian is currently researching ocean monuments and guardians

Mumbo is an engineer, working in tech to help with Grian's reasearch

Grian constantly believes he is about to reach a breakthrough]

#hermitcraft au #ocean explorer au #illustration #archillustrates #hermitcraft #life series #traffic smp #trafficblr #hermitblr #hermitcraft fanart #hermitcraft s10 #hermitcraft season 10 #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fandom #grian fanart #grian #grianmc #hermitcraft grian

[cjskribblez]

Something about a lonely astronaut, a radio, and the color red amiright folks

Au by @slashmagpie :)

#GUESS WHOS LLAU POSTING AGAIN WHOOOO #maintagging bc i spent like 10 hours on this smh #anyways read it #tangotek #tangotek fanart #llau #lifeline au #lifeline au fanart #llau fanart #impulsesv #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft au #hermitblr #hermitcraft fanfic #false symmetry #hc s8

[kieiswrite]

i've been writing a few short ficlets relating to the possession au - scar, cub and a bunch of other hermits hunting ghost and getting possessed. horror themes but lighthearted! this one is about Scar and Cub getting into ghost hunting business. the next parts centering on Cleo here and Ren here —

Introducing: Scar & Cub Apparition Removal Agency

“‘SCARA’?” Cub’s tone is completely neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s not convinced.

“Yeah! Pretty clever, right?” Scar grins at him. “We could make a logo with a scary monster eating the ghosts.”

“I see your name is in there,” Cub says, “while mine is not.”

“It’s in there! You’re the C, Cub! It’s only a coincidence that it spells out my name.” Scar stretches his arms. The chair creaks. “A happy accident, though—a lucky one, even, some would say, since I will be the head of the operation!”

“I see.” Cub lets the bottle swing slowly back and forth, holding the neck between his thumb and middle finger. Then he takes a sip. He doesn’t particularly like beer, but it’s a rare occasion Scar buys him a drink—even if it’s in the shabbiest bar of the block—so he does his best to enjoy it. “Mmh. And what did you say my role in all of this was going to be?”

“Now, I’m glad you asked, Cub! I’m so very glad you asked me that question.” Scar is drinking water. He’s broke again. “I thought of this plan, and then I immediately thought of you! And do you know why, Cubby? Let me explain what we’re going to do, but first, you need to cast your mind back, all the way back to—high school. Do you remember that night we played with the ouija board in the cellar?”

Cub considers. “I think so.” He takes another, deeper sip. “Yeah, I remember.”

Somebody stumbles past their table, leans briefly on the back of Cub’s chair for balance. The place is filling up. The cover of chatter and loud music gives them some privacy, but Scar edges closer nonetheless. “You had me with that,” he whispers, theatrical, holding up a finger. “You had me for years. No, don’t give me that look, it was a good performance, Cub! I never knew you could act like that. I thought—I really thought you were possessed by the Janitor Jack. The thing you did with your eyes was so creepy, and then you changed your voice and made the—I still have nightmares about the growl. I have nightmares, Cub! Just thinking about it now gives me the heebie-jeebies.” He laughs. “It really was something.”

“Yeah.” Cub’s expression doesn’t change at all, but he squeezes the bottle with both hands. “It was something.”

“So here’s what I thought: I’ll get the clients. I’ll speak to them, persuade them… We go to where they say the ghost is, and you get possessed by it. Just like you were possessed by Janitor Jack!” Scar’s grin widens. “And then we just figure out what we want the ghost to say. I can—I can film it, if the client is not with us, and—look here, Cub. Look what I’ve got!”

Scar lifts up the tattered gym bag he’s been dragging along. He opens the zipper and presents the items to Cub one after another: A couple of white candles, a box of chalk, a crucifix (“This one cost me nothing, got it from the lady across the street!” he says, beaming. “She likes me!”) and even a pack of salt with a discount sticker slapped on the top. He has also bought a new flashlight that against the odds looks relatively sturdy. He asks if Cub can lend him batteries.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Cub says, “but these look like the tools for the world’s cheapest and the most low effort exorcism. Think you have what it takes to kick out a ghost, Scar?”

“Of course! How hard could it be?” Scar makes a mock-ghostly sound and waves the crucifix in front of Cub’s face. “Begone, evil spirit! So—what do you say? Is app—apparel—ap-a-ah— help me out here, Cub!”

“Apparition.”

“Thank you! Is Apparition Removal Agency a go? Will you be my partner?” He drops the cross on the table and holds out a hand.

Cub thinks about it.

Him and Scar are old friends. Cub has been here before—being asked to take part in a questionable enterprise—and it has happened enough times that he can say with confidence: A good nine out of ten of Scar’s schemes are bound to fail.

Nine out of ten. As a business idea, this is ridiculous. Potentially dangerous too.

And it doesn’t matter. The grand success may ever be just around the next corner, but anything Scar has pulled him into he has never regretted, because the failures, as trivial or tragic as they may be, never fail to entertain. 

“Sure thing,” he says. He shakes Scar’s hand. “You can count me in.”

—

The room has a musty smell. Time has given the once-white crocheted bedspread a dirty yellow tint. The curtains are drawn but thin enough to let through light. There’s still a glass on the nightstand, and a picture of some young people, likely relatives, maybe children. The atmosphere in the place is, granted, a little gloomy, considering somebody died here a few days prior, but all in all there’s nothing making the room seem particularly haunted.

Surely ghost hunters would be able to sense if there is a phantasmal presence nearby, even if it’s their first job.

Even if the pay is barely enough to cover their lunches and the gas for Cub’s car. They’ll get experience! And the word of the mouth will have the more lucrative work rolling in in no time!  

“Let’s sit on the bed for this!” Scar is balancing his phone on the corner of the table, to capture the encounter with the ghost. “We will call for her, like, ‘Mary, Mary! Show yourself, Mary! Tell us what keeps you on this earthly plane!’ We’ll light the candles, and then—”

He turns around and cuts his sentence short. Cub has slumped on the bed, and his head hangs down. Dark hair over his eyes and he’s making a low, breathy noise—a snore?

“Cub!” Scar is  at once amused and affronted. “You can’t sleep on a mission!”

Cub’s shoulders jerk. Slowly, he raises his head.

His mouth hangs slack. His eyes are cloudy, hazy, white.

Scar draws in a sharp breath. “Wh—Cub! I didn’t know you already started—I mean, is this—is this Mary? Is Mary here?”

Cub’s voice is a mumble. He sways from side to side. “Who are you?”

Okay. Okay! Cub is veering from the script, but that’s alright! Scar is a quick thinker. Good at improvisation. “We are from SCARA,” he says. Cub’s demeanor is unsettling, but Scar can’t get distracted by his acting chops. He sits down on the side of the bed. “I’m Scar, and we’re here to help you pass on, Mary. Just—talk to us. Tell us everything.”

“Everything?” Cub wheezes. His eyes search for Scar’s face, but don’t fully focus. “What is happening? Why am I so cold?”

It goes pretty much like they rehearsed from there. The ghost doesn’t know she’s dead. She takes it relatively well. She wants little things—she asks if she won the lottery (the ticket is in the drawer. Cub must have checked it while Scar wasn’t looking). She didn’t. She wants to send a letter to her granddaughter, and Scar writes down what Cub tells him to. It’s very sweet, some life advice, some family secrets.

Then, as Scar puts the paper down, he sees there’s blood trickling down from Cub’s nose.

“Cub—Mary,” he says, pointing. “You’ve got a nosebleed.”

The ghost does not react. 

“Right there!” He leans closer. “There. Can you—right under your nose.” 

Cub’s mouth is hanging open again. Blood drips down his lips, his chin. His throat moves, his head jerks—and Scar yelps, startling back.

His poor heart! Scar clutches his chest, but nothing more sinister is happening than just Cub tossing his head in jerky motions from one side to the other. It looks bad but it’s just an act! Cub is trying to freak him out, but he’s not falling for it. The air in the room is thick and the weather must have changed outside, because it’s getting darker.

“Okay, I think we’re done here!” He declares, voice only slightly high pitched. He takes out the crucifix and holds it directly in front of Cub’s restless head. “You got what you wanted, Mary! You can let go now. Go—begone! You’re dead and you should move on, so let go of Cub, and—”

Cub slumps again. He topples a bit to the side—and falls to the floor.

A thud, and then everything is quiet for a long moment. And then Cub sits up, rubbing his head, and his eyes are normal, and he says, pointedly, “Ouch.”

Scar dares breathe again. He’s still gripping the crucifix ever so tightly. “What in the world, Cub? You didn’t have to go that far! You’ll end up getting a tension neck and that’s not a fun time, I can tell you that right now. I’m—wait, I’ll cut the recording off—oh. Oh no, Cub, no, this is not good, I was sitting in the wrong spot! It’s just—oh no. You can see nothing but my back most of the time, look at this!”

He shoves the phone to Cub, who—still on the floor—scrubs quickly through the video. He shakes his head. “Can’t believe this, man.” His tone is appropriately emphatic, near wounded. “Can’t believe this. It really is just your back. Geeze." A pause. "I must have knocked myself out, did you encounter the ghost all by yourself, Scar? What happened?”

He passes the phone back to Scar, touches his own lips and then looks at the blood on his fingertip, quizzical.

Scar is not quite sure how to answer that. He had been about to suggest that they do the bit again, because the recording really is that terrible and all Cub’s effort wasted, but— “You know,” he says, “I’m not sure. Did you really get possessed?”

Cub turns to look at him. He’s paler than usual. After a short pause he says, “Nah, man. That sounds unlikely.”

“So you were acting?”

Cub shrugs. "I've never acted in my life, Scar." He finally takes a tissue from his pocket and wipes his face. "Never acted. But I doubt it was possession. I repel ghosts. Fun fact, ghosts don't attack people with glasses. They get spooked by their own reflection."

Scar cocks his head. "I've never heard that."

"It’s facts. Look it up." Cub stands up. “What’s this?”

“Why, it’s the letter that the ghost wanted me to write! Pack it up, Cub, pack it up! We can give it to the family as proof. I’ll tell them how we banished the ghost and they’ll have to pay us.”

"Oh baby. Easy money."

“Yeah.” Scar gives one more long, thoughtful look to Cub, but he seems to be pretty much his normal self so everything is probably fine. “Yeah! For a first gig, this went great.” He pockets the phone, picks up the bag and his crutches. “Not perfect, I’m not saying we did perfect, but we learned a lot! And the next time—”

They exit the room. The curtains move, like a hand was pushing them to the side. It has to be the draft.

“—next time, you won’t be able to scare me, mister. I’m wise to your tricks now! But we did good. And! I already have the next customer lined up. I told you, Cub, we’ll make profit. I’ve got a feeling. This is going to go so well.”

#the possession au #cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fanfic #kiescribbles #cw possession #cw drinking #also questionable business morals #only a bit of blood and very light drinking and everything is lighthearted but nonetheless