hermitblurbs

[hermitblurbs]

ATLA au

——————

He’s been allowed a small table in the quarters of the castle, separate from the other imperial firebenders. The door shuts behind him with a silent click, and the incense is lit without even a bending gesture as he kneels in front of the makeshift shrine. Pine smoke curls around an old, worn theatre mask, and Cub breathes.

The servants know better than to disturb him at sunset.

Cub sits vigil as the sky slinks from glorious day to quiet night and then some, losing himself in the space between sun rays. He’s only brought out of it at the sound of footsteps outside his door, unmonitored and militaristic on the wood lined stone floor.

The servants know better. Bravo, on the other hand, seems to know nothing.

He’s accompanied as always by the feather-light steps of a dozen servants. There’s at least a beat of hesitance from them to open his door for the crown prince, so Cub makes sure there’s enough time to escape before he reaches for the lamps bordering the door, tightening his grip until they explode outwards into cerulean flame.

Bravo must learn something, because he cuts through it. Cub can feel how it left the line of his pinky singed through, never mind at how the embers smolder into his overdecorated robes.

“Come on, that’s not fair,” comes the grating lilt of the prince’s voice, then accompanied by the puffs of dusting ash. “You’re usually done by now.”

Cub opens his eyes to stars outside his window. He doesn’t have it in him to be properly surprised. He’s sat vigil from sun down to sunrise before, though that’s always been after the Fire Lord sent him to do something that left blood stuck beneath his nails.

Finally, he turns to look at the prince.

“Do you have a reason to be bothering me?” he asks, because Bravo never asks to spar this late. The answer is, as expected,

“I don’t, but father does. He’s called for us.”

“Us, or me?” Cub asks just to watch the smarmy look fall from his face. That in and of itself would be answer enough.

Except it doesn’t, because his grin only widens.

“Us.”

Cub sits up straighter. There’s next to nothing that would require both of them, not unless the Fire Lord wants another demonstration on how lessons have been going. Not at night though—night is for missions.

“Let’s go, then.”

#blurb #just a little snippet i wrote for an rp! #cubfan135 #ficlet #know that i see your messages and i love you all dearly #im not coming off hietus tho <3 #might answer some questions about my aus if anyone has any though

[hermitblurbs]

tried to draw Ghibli-style Scar and Grian inspired in Cod Boy Doesn't Believe in Magic by @honeysuckle-limeade and @hermitblurbs!

Yes I know Scar's face is covered at all times by his hood in the fic but I dont know how to draw hoods so shhhhh

#;) #especdreamy

[hermitblurbs]

A continuation of my Steampunk AU (7)!

Grian had grown to accept his weird attachment to Scar, if with a bit of hesitance. The other was good conversation in a town where everyone else was incredibly boring. It’s why he stuck around with broken machines so often; there’s nothing to predict about them.

Scar was fixed up, no sign of glitches like in N.P.C or Grumbot, and Grian couldn’t predict him if his life depended on it. Whatever AI in the bot’s brain was fascinating, and the strange logic it followed always managed to keep him enraptured.

It quelled that bored drawl in the back of his mind, on a good day.

Today, even with Scar by his side, seemed to crawl along at a slug’s pace.

The wastes were turning up useless scrap after useless scrap, Mumbo too busy with a commission to entertain him, even the ticking of his wings was the same as ever. They didn’t even ache. At least then, complaining or not, wouldn’t leave him bored.

If he’s being honest, he probably shouldn’t have gone out to scavenge.

Days like these are best kept in line by staying in a place with overarching rules, a guarantee he won’t overstep anything and end up missing more than a chunk of wing.

The wastes don’t have that. They have metal, radiation, rust, and scavengers.

“This is a lot further than we’ve travelled before,” remarks Scar, frayed gas mask making him seem bizarrely human, bizarrely out of place in one of mumbo’s white button up and a false corset. He knows by the whirl of Scar’s fans, that the green metal would be warm to the touch.

He climbs the hill anyway.

There’s the clanging of other scavengers, only two of them at the foot, and they’re pulling something out of a shaking pile that’s large and expensive.

“Ooh, a lucky find for those fellas!”

Grian says nothing in return.

His wings click. Once. Twice.

Take it from them.

He widens his stance, careful not to make a sound on copper and aluminum and iron.

Imagine how excited Mumbo will be.

His wings spread like butter across the sky.

And he jumps. Dives, towards the two.

What should’ve happened was a simple wrap of his hands around the machinery and an arc back into the air and away. What should’ve happened would have been enough to satiate his boredom. What should’ve happened, is that he should have been faster.

What did happen, is that he gets his hands curled around the machine. He’s on the upbeat of his wings, when a hand wraps around his ankle.

He registers the impact. He registers the stars. He registers how the metal crumples beneath him, denting and damaging the scrap.

And then he registers the pain of being slammed into the ground.

“What the fuck, you little asshat!” The nearest one sounds. Their mask is colored the same white as the gleam of a jawbone. They raise a foot and stomp on Grian’s hand, grinding it into the dry dirt with the heel.

He has half a mind to scan the hills for Scar, but the android is lost among the shadows and the piles of scrap encircling them. His heart sinks.

“Hey, dude!” Comes the second one—their mask is layered to look like a growing of fungus. “Take it easy, they’re already down.”

“Their mask is cool,” remarks the third, the one his missed and the one who grabbed him. Their mask is simple and plain, a stark contrast to his own, hooked in the shape of a beak. They’re dressed in dark browns, almost blended completely against the ground.

“That doesn’t matter, they tried to *steal* from us. Why I oughta—“ And they grab his wing.

Something in his mind goes a little haywire. The bones there are fragile, half-molded to metal and muscle, and he does his darnedest to bash their faces in with the prosthetic.

He manages to clip Shrooms across the temple, drawing his knife and lunging at another, but it doesn’t last long. It was never going to last long, three against one. But he gets some good hits in, spills enough blood.

He ends up fully pinned, a boot against his back and his racing heartbeat prominant in the pressure from a steady, constant pull of his wing in a scavenger’s hand.

“What’s going on here?” Comes a familiar voice, and Grian feels like crying. If they leave him alive, at least Scar can get him back to Mumbo.

“Are you with this vulture,” one of them spits.

“I am, and I promised he’s very much learned his lesson—“

“He sliced my arm open,” they growl. And yeah, he did do that. The drip of blood fills him with a cruel pride that they’re going to need to go home after this and waste the day away.

“You deserved it,” he calls back, and is rewarded with a particularly painful tug on his wing.

“Fellas, I promise you that if you let him go, you’ll never see us ever again. Heck, we’ll even leave you little things for yourself to improve profits! How’s that for a deal?”

“How about instead we slice his throat?” And he knows it’s a bluff. Killing someone over a single piece of scrap is ludicrous, and these guys don’t seem insane enough to do it to a first-time offender. They’re farther than typical from their bubble, and while Grian’s had his own fair share of death threats they’ve only ever been serious in total nowhere. It’s got to be a bluff. It has to be.

He’s going to die if it’s not.

Grian looks up, eyes following metal legs to Scar’s face to find the other staring directly at him.

He doesn’t know what Scar sees in him, but he hears his fan kick on just beneath the noise of the wastes.

The android steps forward, steps closer. Grian can’t tell a single thing about what he’s thinking, but he knows his neck is starting to ache from the angle he’s keeping it at to keep Scar in view. Something about the quiet won’t let him look away. Scar rears back a fist.

And then he hears the crack of bone.

The weight falls off his back, his wing, and Grian is left staring into empty space as Scar takes measured steps behind him, and out of view.

The impacts behind him begins to sound wet, like the repeated thump of a hammer against drowned wood.

Grian has dabbled a bit, long before he met Mumbo, in engineering himself. It was more buildings than robots, trains instead of anything that breathes. But there’s one thing he still remembers, clear as day.

A robot may not injure a human being.

So what does that make the thing in front of him?

#blurb #scarian #steampunk au #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft #this was sitting in my drafts waiting for you all! #sorry i took so long to post <3 #i dont think this blog will be continuing to write for Awhile #schools getting rough! #but if yall have any questions on story beats #ive got some semblace of a plan for a lot of them! #cod boy might be stalled too #we didnt have any writing backed up;; #love yall! im going to enjoy my retirement <3

[hermitblurbs]

Lovely Bitter Water

Rating: Teen and up

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP

Relationships: Bdoubleo100 & EthosLab, Bdoubleo100/EthosLab

Characters: BdoubleO100, EthosLab, ZedaphPlays, TangoTek, more characters will probs be added later

Tags: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Inspired by The Last of Us, Violence, Humor, at some points, Fluff and Angst, LATER, Hurt/Comfort, later as well, Dehumanization, character is referred to as 'it' a few times, just because etho like, firstly is like you're a zombie you're not human, and then bc hes deliberating pronouns, lulu's here!, Friends to Lovers, ehe

["You are the dumbest zombie I have ever met."]

EthoSlab was once an aspiring archeologist, who built an underground bunker purely for enjoyment. He ignored the growing signs of biological warfare within his home until, eventually, everything came crashing down. So now, he does his best with what he has, and finds himself the babysitter of a very… odd zombie.

Inspired in part by @hermitblurbs

#rebagel #not my words #last life fic #endgame ethubs #hermitcraft fic #!!! points

[hermitblurbs]

holy crow yall did it

#im a man of my word. ill open up the google doc

[hermitblurbs]

vote goodtimeswithscar

#throwing my hat into the bribing ring #if scar wins i write and post the next parts of both steampunk au AND codboy au #its what he deserves #do it for jellie

[hermitblurbs]

Written for a part of the [redacted] secret santa gift exchange! @habeascorpseus, this is for you :D

Grian wakes to the smell of chicken cooking.

He blinks at the wooden ceiling above him, the spruce rafters worn but sturdy, and he basks in the moment of peace.

The smell creeps towards chicken burning, and a few things come back to his memory from the hours--days? How long had he been asleep?--prior.

A shift gone long, with the familiar, off-white halls of the palace that glow blue with the twilight. He'd usually have been relieved of his shift by now, to rest for the long day of making sure the prince didn't die, but no one had swept by for a while.

He snaps to attention at the sound of footsteps. Unfamiliar, from inside the prince's room. Not an unusual occurrence, as the prince was known to have the occasional lover within (he didn't wish for the prince to snag his hand next with that sly grin of his. That would be unprofessional), but the shout of alarm certainly was.

Things speed up. An intruder. A knife. His sword in his hand.

The assailant left through the window, and Grian would've followed if it wasn't for the iron grip on his elbow. If it wasn't for how he turned back to find his charge with his signature grin fraying, and with blood trickling from a knife that came too close.

He holds him, and things speed up again.

A siege. A plot, with blood stained on the tiles and climbing up the walls.

He has his job, and he does it well.

They'd made it to the stables, smoke and ash in his lungs from a castle burning at his back, and he ushers Scar onto his horse. He would have left his prince there, in favor of staying and fighting, if it wasn't for olive eyes boring into his own and asking him to stay by his side.

His prince’s words were never orders, no matter how Grian wishes so. If they were orders, he wouldn't have a choice in mounting up his own steed and riding away from his dying guardsmen. He didn’t hesitate, though, in following. He never needed to.

Grian’s still staring at that wooden ceiling.

He doesn't remember where they are. He doesn't remember arriving.

The woods ahead of him, the frantic gait of a galloping horse.

Darkness.

Is Scar still with him?

Was he taken?

He shoves himself out of soft sheets onto wood flooring, and is rewarded immediately with a stabbing pain in his abdomen. Where the hard shell of his armor should be instead are bandages, clumsily applied but a solid example of well-enough.

He can put together the rest of the pieces from there.

His collapse is evidently noted, judging by the resulting clamor in the kitchen, and sure enough, rapidly approaching in his familiar, uneven gait is--

"Why are you shirtless?"

And if it were anyone other than his prince, he surely would have gotten a rap on his knuckles for his tone.

But because it is, he's instead rewarded with a beautiful, bubbling laugh.

"What do you mean? I did all this hard work getting us to the safehouse, patchin' you up, and sometimes I just need to let my chest breathe, you know?" his prince says, his crooked smile curling around his words, and Grian feels himself soften at the warmth it gives off.

He can't believe he actually fell for this idiot.

His prince approaches, scooping him up and setting him back on the bed with easy movements and a lot of pain in his side, and Grian gives him a stare once he's done with a bit of writhing.

"It's my job to take care of you, you know," he manages, and it's the pain that makes him breathless. Only the pain. Not the proximity, not the warmth, not how he imagines those hands to linger.

"You’ve protected me plenty,” is the response, and he says it with a softness that has Grian snapping his gaze away from him, towards the door he came from. “Maybe I wanted to return the favor."

Following is a moment without a response, and the gap sits warmly in the air next to quiet birdsong.

"My prince," Grian drawls once his voice returns, and he can see Scar's face drop as the other takes in his tone. "Are you trying to cook?"

Whoever said sheepishness had no place in a royal's expression had never met the prince, and how it throws off any comments pointed at him.

"I thought I'd give it a go, you know? How hard could it be?"

"I smelled it burning.”

"Chef’s choice!"

Grian feels the laugh bubble out of him in peals, and like this, he can pretend the way their hands fell together was something more purposeful than gravity.

This is the man he followed into battle. Will keep following, because he’ll be damned if he lets the most interesting man he’s met die.

Ridiculous.

"Absolutely ridiculous."

#blurb #scarian #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fic #grian #gtws #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar

[hermitblurbs]

Hey so I see you haven’t been around and I hope you’re doing okay, I know I’m just some rando on the internet for saying that, but your writing really inspired me and was the highlight of my day whenever I saw you had posted something so I hope that with whatever you're doing now that you’re alright -🤖 anon

Thank you 💚

I’ve gotten really busy, and writing’s been taking a backseat to all the writings I have to do for life! They’re significantly less fun.

But, with season four coming up, let’s see how normal I’ll be.

#i speak #🤖 anon #thank you for the love #this is not a promise #but a possibility #i am still rotating them! dont get me wrong #just in a more background manner #<3

[hermitblurbs]

“What’s your favourite Hermitcraft build so far?” Well you see:

The reason is I love it. Thank you that will be all

[hermitblurbs]

Preteen girl once already……………. 🏳️‍⚧️?

;)

#cod boy au #i genuinely didnt notice that btw #@kellin ily #the slid it right under the door and i love it

[hermitblurbs]

COD BOY CHAPTER 5 IS UP!!! Written with the lovely @honeysuckle-limeade !!

#cod boy au #i speak #sorry for the dry spell! there will be more nothing i am rotating my brain #but! i really like this chapter ( ღ’ᴗ’ღ ) #go reads dallon and i churned it out kekw #scarian #grian #hermitcraft #gtws #desert duo #third life smp #last life smp #3rd life last life fic #hermitshipping #<3

[hermitblurbs]

Omg a steampunk au update!! I am so ready to learn about why androids were banned! The possibilities are endless, android world take over, the question of ethics and whether sentience garners rights, ugh I love this au (also can I be 🤖 anon)

!!!! Yes please be 🤖 anon you named fellas are so few and id love to collect more of you like bottlecaps! And, let’s just say, you’ll find a few hits and tips lying around the wastes ;)

#thank you for the love #ask #🤖 anon #digs my hands into the worldbuilding. #i love this place i have twirled it around my little string

[hermitblurbs]

can we talk about how bdubs STILL MANAGED TO KILL IMPULSE

#double life spoilers #i speak #liveblogging #? #i finished it but they keep fucking rotating #this is the only scrap of joy i can find from this #dl spoilers

[hermitblurbs]

A continuation of my Steampunk AU (6)!

Scar’s turned idle for maintenance. It’s been about half a month before he brought up a dripping oil pipe, and Grian finds himself staring at the bot’s two-toned face. They really do look like scars, raised and pale against the planes of his cheeks.

The newest addition to their team, Jellie, is asleep on a worktable behind them all and rattling pens with her purrs.

Grian hops off the table he’s on himself, closing the distance to brush a knuckle against Scar’s cheek to check if the metal’s warm. Having been scavenging and generally being around him for nearly every minute he was awake—Mumbo banned Scar from the workshop after one too many clumsy accidents, so Scar was his—it was bizarre to see him so lifeless again.

It felt wrong, to hold a hand in front of that metal grin and feel no breath from it. He’s usually so full of personality, but his eyes are dull and dilated, and his chest is open while Mumbo works.

He’s just a bot. Someone programmed to be likable and easy to talk to. He’s not anything important.

Don’t get him wrong, Grian’s gotten attached to bots before. There was Grumbot, the little, trashy fortune teller bot Mumbo patched up and then burnt out. There was N.P.C, the simulator that glitched onto an obsessivity with rustic homes.

Scar felt different. Feels different.

His voice changes, ever so slightly, when he wants to smile more than the metal will allow him. And when he gets super excited, the whirr of his fan gets louder and his speech comes faster until it’s almost incomprehensible.

It makes him feel warm, even in the sticky chill of the wastes.

“Where do you think he came from, Mumbo?” He asks, turning his attention to the mechanic.

“I thought you pulled him out of the wastes yourself, mate,” he replies, working on extracting the faulty line in Scar’s chest. His core is ticking steadily, a healthy beat to match the churning of mystery liquid inside.

…Maybe more oil?

He doesn’t care, actually. Redstone wants him dead.

“Well, yes, from the wastes, but I mean before that.”

“Maybe he came from outer space,” Mumbo says, and Grian has to grin.

“What?!”

“Don’t you reckon it was aliens who dump a bunch of mystery metals outside the bubble?” He asks, matching Grian’s smile. “Think about it. It makes perfect sense.”

“Aliens destroyed the world?”

“Definitely. Metal? 100% alien.”

Grian hears the clicks of his wings settling, and he tips his head back and laughs.

“Makes sense as to why the government’s banned him then.”

“Yeah, why he’s—” Mumbo breaks the momentum of the conversation, looking to Grain with his eyes behind his ridiculous googles. “Oh, that’s not part of the bit. He is?”

“…yes? Honestly I don’t see why, maybe something with the uncanny valley.” He punctuates the muse with the clatter of a dozen metal doodads, trying to make space to lean an elbow on the worktable.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I mean, it’s not like the laws are in place for a reason to keep us safe or anything! No, not at all,” Mumbo laughs.

“It’s too late to put him back.”

“I know.” His voice dips, and there’s all that worry Mumbo keeps in his chest. “He brought us a cat.”

“And it’s Scar. He’s more likely to hurt himself than anyone else. First law of robotics and all, those have been around forever.”

Mumbo’s frown doesn’t disappear, and Grian finds uncertainty worming through his mind in turn.

Why were androids banned?

#blurb #steampunk au #hermitcraft #grian #gtws #mumbo jumbo #desert duo #hermitcraft fic #3rd life fic #last life fic #3rd life last life fic #double life fic #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #claps hands

[hermitblurbs]

I’m once again thinking about that au idea I had where scar accidentally breaks a jar while rescuing a cat, only to discover that cat, jellie, is the guardian of the jar and meant to help prevent the many chaotic spirits within from causing trouble. scar is told he has a duty to go get the spirits back into the jar, and to do this, jellie will help him transform into a magical girl and fight the spirits when they reappear possessing people. and thus begins scar’s magical girl adventure!

there’s just… all these background details in this au now because i keep on thinking about it when I’m bored.

i think it starts with scar having trouble at his job at a greenhouse, where he’s largely a salesperson but he wants to become an actual landscaper who designs landscapes, and then he ends up having to try to balance that job and his duty as an increasingly busy and important superhero. like a subplot here is “scar is steadily losing his job because his manager wasn’t understanding anyway but now scar has to keep vanishing to stop rampaging spirits from destroying the city but also can’t tell anyone because The Enemy is out there”

there’s also like, a press element of the AU—as the story goes on scar and his team start to become well-known and they have to deal with that and the attention that brings.

uh, scar’s team ends up being cubfan at first, who, despite magic helping hide scar’s identity, figures out what his best friend is doing, gets a concealed carry permit, and just shoots the problem when they can determine it won’t hurt the person that’s normally beneath the rampaging spirit. he’s kind of chaotic and I think later ends up with a spirit partner who grants him these chaotic, random abilities. he would also throw himself in danger despite scar being Uncertain how he feels about that

bdubs is also on scar’s team he’s the communications guy. he has a weird connection to the wishing star, which is what caused all of this in the first place, and also falls asleep everywhere because he can’t actually sleep normally thanks to this. i think he ends up with various dream-themed powers when he eventually becomes a member of the team

and like, okay, another major part of this au is that there is The Enemy. you see the rampaging spirits will destroy a lot of things if left to their own devices, but also are powerful tools of magic if harnessed correctly, and also can be used to fuel a connection to the all-powerful wishing star. there are multiple organizations that want this, after the jar is broken—including a mysterious figure with large wings, another magical girl it seems, who gained that power and then chose to use it to attempt to capture spirits for themselves and their own purposes. scar and both the various shadowy organizations and this dark magical girl clash at various points.

speaking of, scar’s friend and coworker, struggling guy with a biology and conservation degree also stuck working in that greenhouse, grian, is nearly as flaky as scar these days and increasingly tired and irritable. scar would call him out on it, but…

and that’s just like. some of the aspects of this au I’ve thought about sometimes I rotate it and am like MAN BUT IT WOULD BE COOL IF I HAD THE ENERGY TO WRITE THIS and then I don’t I just need people to know it exists at all times

#rebagel #not my words #still obsessed #with this

[hermitblurbs]

Every single update of yours is a delicious treat and I am a starving starving alley cat. Thank u so much for the food ur writing is a huge comfort for my brain it feels like when I read it I kinda just sink into it, it's so so nice :')

pspspspsppspspsppsp

#i speak #ask #thank you for the love #anon #i hope now that ive fed u u keep coming back for more <3 #quq

[hermitblurbs]

A continuation of my Archeologist AU (9)!

“House arrest? I’m on house arrest?“

“Okay Mr. I’m going to go out in the hottest time of the desert without telling anyone and get heatstroke! Look in the mirror! You don’t look good! House arrest is light, you should be sent back on that plane and to a hospital—“

“I was trying to find a lead you insufferable—“

“Oh man,” drawls one of the nurses. “This is just like listening to my parents get divorced all over again.”

It’s almost comical how quickly the medical tent descends into silence.

“Well hello there, I didn’t see you come in!” Says Scar, trying to cover whatever embarrassment shows on his cheeks.

The nurse laughs in good fun, moving across the space in a few long strides to Grian’s bedside.

The medical tent is small, white tarp for the tent and for the floor, and it’s mostly used to keep their medical supplies more than anything. It’s kept cool when any of its two cots are in use though, and Grian needs to keep cool after the stunt he pulled.

The nurse tells Grian as such, and Scar gives him a Look as staying put is emphasized in the rundown.

Scar knows all of this information. He makes sure he listens anyway.

The nurse eventually leaves them alone after making Grian basically swear on his life to stay inside.

Scar sits back down at his bedside.

“Why did you do that, G?” He asks, keeping his voice soft. He has to be gentle, or Grian’ll get defensive. More defensive.

“I don’t know, Scar,” he says, and Scar nearly slumps with the relief that his friend is talking.

“I just—“ He makes a frustrated noise and runs a hand through his hair. He looks… oddly close to tears.

Scar gives him a hand, and he holds onto it like a lifeline.

“What happened?” He prompts.

Grian’s face falls, and Scar can’t figure out why.

“Nothing,” he mutters, and maybe Scar’s heart breaks a little. “Felt like I was going a little insane, I think.”

There’s a secondary touch on his hand nearly scaring him out of his skin, and he finds Grian holding onto him with both hands.

“I’ll be fine, Scar, just… don’t go near any explosives.”

#blurb #archeologist au #desert duo #3rd life #3rd life last life fic #3rd life last life #grian #hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #third life smp #hermitshipping #kinda #third life last life #third life last life fic #kekw #<3 #this has been in my drafts for forever