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boxbug · 7 months

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A Canary’s Final Flight

My piece for @trafficzine 4th edition! Get it for free here! 200 pages of excellent art and fics, incredible work from all participants and from the mods especially!! huge shoutout to the mods for real

Process notes under the cut! (I struggled a lot so it's a bit of a novel)

So the entire process was a Ride. I knew when I picked this prompt that I was going to have a hard time, because Jimmy’s final death had been illustrated a billion times over by extremely talented artists. But I had a Vision of the snapshot of the second before the impact, when everything is still but you know what’s about happen. It was very much inspired by the clip of Fog by Jabberwocky, bu the thing is, they have the advantage of all the build up of the fall, and that’s when the trouble started.

This was my first version, and obviously it wasn't working. And I was trying so hard, with so many iterations! Small wings, big wings, no wings, different poses, less backgrounds elements. I'd done compositions were everything seemed peaceful but something is Wrong, but it wasn't working this time.

So instead I focused on what rendering I'd like to do - I tried a painterly approach, for that visceral feeling, but it wasn't working either (but hey, I did keep the red sky, so, progress)

At this point I'd been doing back and forths for weeks and I was just as lost as at the start. Now that's my tip for people who make art of any kind, in situations like that, stop thinking about how you can make the best piece possible, and think about you can have fun with it (because when you aren't it's visible). And for that was, 1 - going back to using ink and pen nibs and doing way too detailed inking, and 2- looking at Dave McKean's covers for Sandman (which, funnily enough, was also a reference for my previous trafficzine piece)

And from there I was actually going somewhere! Between the jagged rocks, the red sky, and the increased verticality with the borders, I had hit the vibes I wanted.

I did some experimentation with the border, and even though I really liked the bad boys I drew they were taking too much away from the lonely desolation, so I actually used Red (Unecessary Redstone)'s idea of all of Jimmy's worldy's possessions scattered on the ground post impact, with the idea to make it looks like the central image is his grave being dug.

(and yes for a short amount of time the were supposed to be clock markings on the sun, but there was already enough going with the wings so I scrapped that) (also fun fact the reason why the wings aren't fully material but more ghostly is because my toddler cousin was watching me draw the very first draft and asked why he didn't just use his wings and i went :( so the wings are a metaphor now)

So from there I found a bunch of picture and took some myself, cut and assembled everything together, added shadows in all the appropriate places, and repainted some elements so that everything would look better intergrated (some of the wheats are basically 100% handpainted, the cardboard as well). This took a suprisingly long amount of time, but I was done!

Well I wasn't expecting to have that much to say, but I hope if you're still reading, it was at least interesting!

#trafficzine #limited life #limlife #limlife fanart #jimmy solidarity fanart #solidaritygaming #i forgot all the tags augh #curse of not posting often #mcyt fanart #mcyt #zine illustration #zines #my art

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lectern-fullcauldron · 1 year

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my favourite bits from some hermits' first ever hermitcraft videos:

Joe: [very poor mic quality] "howdy y'all! Joe Hills here, recording as I always do in Nashville, Tennessee, and I seem to have found myself on the hermitcraft server, despite it being private and whitelisted, a testament to my ingenuity and the foolishness of others" GenB: "...Hypno, we've been hoodwinked"

Cleo: "oh there's a FUCK ton of horses over there... well, Joe's offline and I'm too shy to speak to everyone"

Etho: immediately just crawls into redstone and farms and gets distracted by bits of string doing block updates that he wants to figure out

Cub: "Land ho, Hypno!" a whole video of hermit chaos and running about with cub being pretty quiet only for him to unmute, run around calling everyone's builds beautiful and then add mineshafts to the Mesa before Mojang did

Impulse: mumbo, X, and tango doing their giggly impulse summoning ritual for redstone purposes

Xisuma: 48 seconds into the video, the active hermits (Hypno included) are plotting to hunt him down and kill him because they think he's afk

Doc: episode title: humble beginnings, episode opening: two and a half minutes of dramatic music as doc gives a third person camera tour of the server with the back of his head firmly in the centre of the shot

False: poor, quiet, wet cat just wants a job in some xisuma and mumbo led roleplay

Mumbo (this is the first hermitcraft episode I ever watched, btw): he's building a plaza and he needs the hermits to validate his fountain idea because what if he builds a fountain and the hermits don't like it? building is hard, btw

Gem and Pearl: in the pit, go. Get in the pit. Ok, now we can start

Keralis: "yo, yo, it's keralis", "no, I won't be doing a tutorial for this house because it's a pain in the ass to make", "me and survival is really shitty, it's not my cup of tea at all"

#good to reblog #hermitcraft #joe hills #zombiecleo #ethoslab #cubfan135 #impulsesv #xisumavoid #docm77 #falsesymmetry #mumbo jumbo #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #keralis #first episodes are fun #i love how shy a lot of the hermits start before they get confident enough to cause trouble #joe caused trouble from the off and that's why he's the wildcard

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theminecraftbee · 1 month

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situation ask game: joe hills for 16?

16. Meeting past/future self

"Howdy!" Joe Hills says.

"Howdy!" Joe Hills says back. "This seems to be quite the predicament."

"Oh god, there are two of them," whispers Doc. He'd just wanted to check on the log shop, man. Joe had said something about fixing some redstone (inherently terrifying to hear), and he'd just wanted to come check on it and inevitably fix the fixed redstone, and now there are two of them.

"I have to say," the first Joe Hills--presumably, the original one, given that he's insisting on saying everything through that stupid hand puppet he made this season, although Doc couldn't tell you--says. "I'm fairly certain seeing my own ghostly visage is normally considered a bad sign in most literature. Luckily, this isn't literature, so I can ignore the ill portent."

"Alas, I am, in fact, a bad omen," the second Joe Hills says, all too cheerfully. The second Joe Hills does not have a hand puppet and appears by all measures to be a ghost. Doc would generally agree that's a bad sign too, except for the fact that the Joe he knows is a ghost about fifty percent of the time, and oh no, he's already confused. There are two of them and he's already confused.

Maybe he should go get some coffee. The cafe Cleo set up is supposed to be good, and if he's this confused, maybe he'll manage to get himself to walk past the cats before he remembers he's supposed to be scared.

"Oh no," Doc's Joe says. "I don't have time for bad omens. For one, I'm not any good at killing pillagers. For another thing, I'm busy. See I was trying to help and I accidentally broke Doc's redstone and I feel bad because I think he's like, actually for-real mad about it, not fake mad, and we're supposed to be business partners, right, so I thought I'd come here and fix the redstone. Except then when I was hanging out with Mumbo at the end of our setup confessional Mumbo mentioned something and I just now remembered it and I think I fixed it wrong, so I'm here to try to figure that out, and that means I really don't have time for a bad omen."

"We never do," the ghost Joe says, shaking his head.

Doc, weirdly, feels touched.

"So if you could go away and give me dire warnings later--"

"Sorry, I don't have time to be put off for later! If you put this off for future Joe, you're putting this off to me! Then I'll have to do this all over again, and it'll be a closed time loop. Or, I guess mostly closed, because I don't remember this. But maybe you hit your head and forget everything! I don't know! I don't know how time travel works, but closed time loops were always the really confusing ones because they try to make sense. If we don't try to make sense you might still be able to change things."

"Oh no. What if this is a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"I hadn't considered that," the ghost Joe says.

"I mean, everything I've ever read says that in trying to avert catastrophe, I am likely to accidentally cause it!" Doc's Joe says.

"Maybe the solution is for you to not believe my warnings?" the ghost Joe says. "No, that always ends badly too. That means there's dramatic irony!"

"Right, right. Maybe you just have to be as clear as possible, so I can't misinterpret your words?"

"No, I think the solution is to be vague," the ghost Joe says. "Good prophecies are normally vague that way. I mean, I'm mostly just here to tell you how to avert the nasty end of the world that kills everyone super dead, not anything too complicated! If I put too many details in, I'll leave in a dramatically appropriate loophole by accident, and then you'll never manage it."

"True, but Cleo says that I should always be given exact instructions, or I'll do the wrong thing on purpose," Doc's Joe says.

"We do that even more with exact instructions."

"That is true! And I guess it's harder to remember exact instructions?"

"Maybe the solution, given that I am going to vanish back to the past in five minutes," the ghost Joe says, "is that I should simply write down my instructions. That will make them harder to misremember or misinterpret."

"I will lose those too! This is too much responsibility!"

"I know! That's what I said!" ghost Joe says. "I said, why are you asking me. I mean I know the ghost thing is the only reason I can do this, but I don't want this kind of responsibility! I am not trustworthy! You all have known this since, like, day one, stop putting this kind of stressful responsibility on me! I do weird things when I'm stressed! I mean, I'm always stressed--"

"That's true, we are," Doc's Joe interjects.

"--but this is even more stressful than that! If I thought anyone else could do it, I would have said no! And now I don't know how to--"

"Man, if the world is going to end and kill all of us, stop worrying and just say how," Doc says, stepping out of his hiding place and throwing up his hands. "You're wasting time!"

"Oh, you're right," ghost Joe says. "So, the world will end when--"

He vanishes.

Doc and Doc's Joe stare after ghost Joe into the distance. Finally, Joe, with the world's most betrayed expression, turns to Doc.

"You scared me off!" he says. "If you hadn't shown up I'm sure I would have explained eventually."

"WHAT," Doc says as calmly as possible back. It does not appear to appease the Joe he's left with at all.

#answered #boonbeenblade #ask game #a bee fic #joe hills #docm77 #hermitcraft #hermitfic #two joes would form the world's dumbest feedback loop is what i'm saying.

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mochiwrites · 24 days

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I’m here to see you put scarian in more situations:

8. “Who did this to you?”

Pwese <3

08. "Who did this to you?" (put that guy in a situation!)

reblogs do more than likes!

“Oh, songbird,” Scar’s voice shakes as he takes in the ragged appearance of the man in front of him. He’s wrapped up in bandages, dressed in clothes that don’t fit him (it’s not that they’re too big, they just don’t look right on him). Two fluffy appendages sit on his back that are certainly new, but what kills Scar is how upset Grian looks.

It’s been two years since he’s seen him, two years since Scar believed his husband to be dead.

But Grian is very much alive, and well… mostly well. He sits on a bed a little ways from Scar, somehow in Mumbo’s redstone world, and he is alive.

Scar can hardly believe it.

“Scar,” Grian croaks weakly, and it’s like life breathes into his body again. Scar’s world fills with color and vibrancy, and breathing in air has never felt so good.

The sound of his husband’s voice urges him forward, and he’s quick to sit with him, even quicker to pull him into his arms.

“Grian,” he breathes out quietly, a hand falling into his hair. Scar sets his cheek on Grian’s head, simply breathing him in. Grian grips him, wrapping his arms tight around him. “Grian,” Scar says again, letting the familiar syllables roll right off his tongue. His vision blurs as he crushes his husband to his chest, holding on like he’s going to disappear again.

“I’m here,” Grian says, hand rubbing Scar’s back as the taller begins to tremble. He presses his face further into his shoulder, “I’m here.”

Tears fill Scar’s vision, and he pulls back to take him all in again. He cradles Grian’s face in his hands, thumb ever so delicately brushing over a bandage on his cheek. He’ll have to thank Mumbo later for taking care of Grian. His lips form a wobbly smile as he moves to gently press his lips to the other’s cheek. “Well, I guess the bird like behavior really suits you now,” he weakly jokes, and preens when he sees Grian’s eyes light up with mirth.

Yet the look darkens seconds later as he tears his gaze away from Scar, breaking the man’s heart all over again. “Yeah,” Grian mutters.

“Oh, love.” Scar gently encourages his husband to meet his eyes, rewarding him with a kiss to his nose when he does. He sees the darkness swirling in the depth of Grian’s eyes, sees the way he’s just mere steps away from appearing to Scar as a husk, retreating behind his walls for safety.

The very thought that Grian has come back to him with such pain, with the need to guard himself, makes anger burst forth in his chest. It makes him so, so angry. It makes him furious, and protective, and he swears that he will make whoever caused such pain for the light of his life will not rest easy.

“I’m sorry,” Grian murmurs to him, leaning forward to embrace him again. He tucks his head under Scar’s chin, and Scar doesn’t hesitate to wrap him up in his arms. “I didn’t mean to disappear or lose contact but They—”

“It’s alright, G,” Scar soothes, carding his fingers through Grian’s hair, “you came back to me. That’s all that matters.” He’s spent every day of the last two years terrified out of his mind, but he’s here now, able to hold Grian in his arms once more.

He hears Grian’s breath hitch as his fingers dig into the back of Scar’s shirt. “….I lost the jumper you made me,” he quietly admits, and his voice is shaking. Scar holds him tighter. “They… They did so much…”

“Sh, sh, later, okay? We can talk about all of it later,” Scar tells him. He gives the other a light squeeze, dropping a kiss to his head. “But I… I need to ask, G,” he says nervously, still brushing through his hair. “Who did this to you?”

Who hurt you? Who took you from me for so long?

He tries to keep his voice even, tries to keep it still and free of the anger creating a tsunami in his chest. But some it still bleeds through, still echoes in his words as he holds his husband against him.

He feels Grian stiffen in his arms, but they both know this part of the conversation will be inevitable. They cannot run from it. Scar is owed a lot of answers at Grian’s pace, but he still needs to know this much.

Grian sucks in a rugged breath, and Scar can feel the way his eyelashes lightly tickle his neck as he shuts his eyes. “The Watchers,” he answers, and the tsunami crashes harshly. Roughly.

Scar presses another kiss to his hair, taking a measured breath. “Alright,” he says, “okay.” He breathes out with a soft tremble, burying his face in Grian’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. But I’m here now, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Grian nods against him, murmuring an affirmation. He doesn’t let Scar go, instead choosing to cling to him like he might just disappear. Scar holds him just as closely, carrying the same fear.

He takes in Grian’s fear, his pain, his grief, and swears to make Them pay, whenever he gets the chance. He knows there’s a lot more to the story, but for now, Scar is content to hold Grian in his arms.

#mochi speaks #mochi writes #secret husbands au #scarian #hermitshipping #ask game

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hopepetal · 10 months

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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

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thefireintheshadow · 2 months

Text

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

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betweenlands · 6 months

Text

It takes exactly two seconds between Impulse looking up at the top of the Secret Keeper and him realizing what he's actually seeing up there to decide he is officially sick and tired of seeing ghosts.

There are seven entire ghosts around the thing today -- a couple appear to be tinkering with the secret delivery mechanisms. Impulse squints at them.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"Trying to figure out how to load more tasks into this thing," one of them replies, kicking one of the blocks with buttons on them. He's got a full beard and some weird green glowing mushrooms poking out of cracks in his face. It's definitely... a look, Impulse will give him that. Very Mycelium Resistance. "But whoever designed it used freakin' command blocks, and you can't even see the randomizer run."

"How many times did your randomizer break again?" one of the other ghosts calls from up on top of the Secret Keeper.

"Never!" the mushroom ghost protests, causing at least two other ghosts to crack up laughing. "It worked completely flawlessly except for user error."

One of the ghosts, someone who appears to have a floating cactus block for a head, snorts. "And programmer error."

"You shut it," the mushroom ghost responds.

"He's not wrong," the more normal-looking brown-haired ghost over by the command blocks says absently, purple eyes clearly focused on trying to trace the wiring back to the actual command blocks.

Impulse just stands there, bewildered -- both because the ghosts are actually talking to him, and also because these are extremely weird ghosts to be talking to who look nothing like anyone he's even vaguely heard of.

"Fine," he says, "you know what, I'll bite. Why are you guys here?"

"Checking in," a ghost sitting on one of the lower rocks says. He's wearing blue and yellow, looks to be a little more transparent than the others. "Y'know, new season and all that?"

Impulse squints at him. "No, I meant, why are you following me?"

"Ohhhh!" The ghost laughs. "Hadn't looked into what you were doing yet, and these guys wanted to see if they could get some of their tasks into the machine, so I just brought everyone along."

"That's not really a good answer," a ghost leaning inside the alcove under the Secret Keeper says. He's got a mask pulled up over his face, though his voice doesn't really sound muffled at all.

"What," the blue and yellow ghost says, "am I supposed to say something like it's because you're one of the people with no hard-and-fast thematic associations to stick to and therefore easier to facilitate a meeting with and freak him out more?"

Impulse squints harder. "Are you guys Watchers?"

The blue-and-yellow ghost snorts. "Hah! That's Martyn's lore, bud, not yours. Nope, nothing to do with the Watchers."

"Aren't you technically--" the ghost in the alcove starts.

"Tsssssshhhhhh," the other ghost replies by way of shushing him aggressively, "spoilers!"

"Alright," the alcove ghost says, spreading his hands in mock defeat, "fine, have it your way. He's right though. Not Watchers."

"Lowercase-w maybe," the brown-haired ghost still inspecting the redstone with the mushroom ghost says, "but otherwise, no."

Impulse is starting to feel like he's wandered into something way above his pay grade.

The alcove ghost snaps his fingers. Impulse notes somewhat absent-mindedly that he has, like, a lot of piercings on one ear. "Hey," he says, "come to think of it, we might be able to help you out with some stuff."

"I swear to God," another ghost says from on top of the Secret Keeper, "if you try to sell another person on your weird coffee god thing again-"

"I wasn't going to!" he responds. "Honest! I was just gonna say, it looks like there's a plains biome here, that means oxeye daisies, that means suspicious stew with regen if you can get a good source of mushrooms."

"Unfortunately," the mushroom ghost says, looking up from where he and the other ghost appear to now be trying to cram books into the ground, "the space for the hearts seems like it just kinda vanishes when people get hit. At least, if I'm not misunderstanding the programming."

"If you're misunderstanding the programming then we're both reading this code wrong," the brown-haired ghost says. "And I'm pretty sure I used something similar here for Dark Path stuff, so probably not?"

"Dang," the alcove ghost says, then tilts his head back towards Impulse. "Maybe make splash poison potions, then? That'll take out a good chunk of someone's health if they can't regen."

"He is green," the cactus-headed ghost says. "Why's he gotta make poison potions right now?"

A shrug in response. "Never hurts to prep early."

The blue-and-yellow ghost leans forward, squinting at him. "Alright," he says, "one of my wisps give you that idea or what?"

Another shrug. "I mean, what if they did?"

"Last time you started listening to his wisps," the brown-haired ghost says, "they told you to try and kill everyone just because I beefed it before the dragon fight."

"It would've worked if you hadn't warned them," the ghost in the alcove replies. "I can't believe you tried to sabotage my attempt at avenging you."

"I can't believe you listened to them in the first place," the blue-and-yellow ghost says. "They're bloodthirsty, they don't really give good advice."

"And I," Impulse says, having inched his way over towards the new task button, "am going to take my task and leave, because you guys are weird."

He hits the button and flips through the taskbook.

"End every sentence said to another player in a question?" he says, squinting down at it.

"You're already doing better than some of us were!" one of the ghosts on top of the Secret Keeper yells down.

"Oh my god, shut up!" the mushroom ghost yells back, and then turns to Impulse. "Hey, by the way, have you considered getting a pet parrot?"

"That's still a bad loophole and you know it," the blue-and-yellow ghost cuts in.

"I heard him just fine," the brown-haired ghost says. "Hey, hang on -- that's one of ours! It worked!"

Impulse decides he's not even going to bother trying to be polite about leaving. He has had entirely enough of these ghosts in particular.

#secret life #secret life smp #impulsesv #gilded hardcore #vikingpilot #this minific brought to you by: gilded is good go watch it #unlike last impulse fic i will not bother with a pretense of it being symbolism. this one is fully because it is funny to me #there's SOME stuff in there if you squint but it doesn't actually have anything to do with impulse #anyway sorting tags time:#yt #txt #solar scraps #solar scrawls #slsmp #gilded #you may have noticed i tagged the blue and yellow ghost. this is because i fear no man. or pronoun stealer for that matter #oh dunk wait i should also tag the others #devonsdesk #thefoolnse #avidmc #and then whimzee and trog are in the background (sorry guys i didn't have the voices down yet)#oh and fun fact about this one. the identity of one of these ghosts is Really Questionable #like just a little bit... it could be him acting weird or it could be something else entirely yknow? something more aware of certain things #but ehhhhhhhhhhhnnnn that's spoilers so who am i to blow up its spot #update josh got a new username so #codeneon

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silverskye13 · 14 days

Note

that update's got me curious

what's tango and wels been up to since the last time guish was on hermitcraft?

Tango crouched on a tangle of redstone lines, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He liked fixing redstone. Redstone was kind. Straightforward. It either worked or it didn't. Forget some dust here, flip too many ticks on a repeater there, and it broke. Set it to order and everything was fine again. The challenge was only in figuring out where he'd gone wrong. Retracing his steps.

Tango rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept yet, and the gritty, sandpaper feeling of fatigue in his eyelids was starting to get annoying. But he needed to set this right. He needed to set something right.

"It's been longer than a month," he said to himself.

Tango blinked uncomprehendingly down at the redstone line. He abruptly decided the problem wasn't here and moved on, walking carefully down the line, trying not to bump into anything unforgiving of random Tango bumps. He glanced down at his watch, where a little window told him who, out of the other hermits, was awake. Most of the list read "inactive," though a few people, like Xisuma and Grian, had emergency calls enabled, which meant they were probably asleep but might not mind being bothered.

"I need a rubber duck," Tango scowled.

Tango shook his head and stopped walking down the line. He scrolled through the list again.

Doc was awake. Doc was always awake when he should be asleep. He could call Doc. It would take him awhile to get here from the Perimeter, but he could take a break from breaking the world to help Tango un-break his redstone. Doc was the kind of person who could talk about a lot of nothing, just like Tanguish could. And Doc would <if Tango asked very firmly> ignore the redstone so Tango could actually fix it, instead of Doc pulling things apart and breaking it six ways before inevitably coming up with a more efficient way to do it.

However, Doc had been the one to help him recover when he'd collapsed. There was a strong chance Doc would zip over and flip that funny little dial by his redstone eye that turned on what he called his "people diagnostics", which meant he was going to poke and prod and really, really lean into the doctor part of Docm77. Or worse, he would turn the dial one tick further and pull up his mental health database, and Tango didn't want to talk about his feelings right now, no matter how much Xisuma said everyone should schedule "wellness time" for it.

<Besides, Xisuma is a robot. He doesn't get feelings.>

Tango sighed out loud at himself.

"Xisuma feels feelings just fine. They're just... Robot feelings. Not Tango feelings." He stood and reassessed that statement. "They're Xisuma feelings."

Tango continued walking.

It was a marvel Tango even had alone time, really. Welsknight had become a second, frustrating shadow. And it wasn't just that he kept popping in to "check in". It was that he pointedly popped in at random times, for random amounts of time. There was no consistency, except that, eventually, like right now, Welsknight had to sleep. Then, and only then, did Welsknight leave. Not that it mattered. Tango hadn't seen Tanguish in his reflection since Wels had done... That.

Tango realized he'd passed the module he had intended to check next. He sighed. He rubbed his eyes again. He backtracked.

The command had really sealed it. Up until then, it was mostly just... Well, it was Wels. He got white-knight-y sometimes. Most of the time it wasn't violent, or if it was, it wasn't turned against anyone important. When Doc had lost some withers on the server, Wels had popped up looking all formal and official -- he and False were a lot alike like that. People asked for help killing monsters and they just. Showed up. Geared and serious. Welsknight had a habit of holding the door for people, and letting the ladies on the server enter buildings first. Whenever people visited Wels was vigilant in making sure they didn't overstep any bounds. But also Welsknight was funny, and quirky, and he had a sense of humor. And also this was Hermitcraft and knights didn't have to slay dragons here. So maybe that's why Tango hadn't expected Welsknight to try to slay Tanguish.

Do you know what that thing is?

Tango stopped. He'd passed the redstone module again. He sighed. He rubbed his eyes. He turned around.

Wels just... Didn't get it. Tanguish made Tango think straight. It was like. It was like. It was like Tango's mind kept running in circles. He could stop, he could set it to order, but it was hard. It took work. It took self control. It took. It took getting a regular amount of sleep for one thing. It took knowing when and where to stop, and being able to focus, and being able to control where his thoughts were going. Tanguish did that for him. It was the ice, Tango thought. His fire ran rampant until ice was in the room. He needed the cold and dark to stop his mind from running. Without it, he just sparked in every direction and inevitably burned himself. Tanguish talked, and Tango's brain stopped being unmanageable, and he got work done twice as fast, and it was great.

Tango stopped. He looked around. It took a few moments of blinking to realize he hadn't passed his module. He kept walking down the redstone line.

"You don't understand what those things do to you," Welsknight had told him, all stern and concerned, like a disappointed dad, which was funny, because Tango was pretty sure he was older. That was the worst part, really. Welsknight had this pitying look on his face, like he was telling a kid Santa Clause wasn't real. "I know you think he's your friend but he's not."

"He is my friend! He's not like you and Helsknight! I don't know how many different ways I have to say that before it sinks in!" Tango had lost all pretense of being reasonable after the third or fourth time Welsknight had insisted he knew better. "We don't try to kill each other every time we see each other! We enjoy each other's company! He's helping me build Decked Out!"

"You don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly Wels!"

Tango stopped walking. He looked around. He rubbed his eyes. There was a brief moment where he couldn't recognize where he was.

"Just after I fix this."

Tango looked around. He forced himself to think about nothing until he found the module. He stared at it. He rubbed his eyes again. They were really starting to hurt. It was the pervasive kind of fatigue migraine that sat right behind his pupils and applied pressure until all he wanted to do was curl up with his face pressed against his hands. Except his hands were always hot and uncomfortable to him. That's why he liked having Tanguish around. He was like soothing a burn.

"It doesn't matter." Welsknight had told him, his voice all controlled and reasonable and stern. "Listen Tango, you haven't dealt with them like I have. That's how they start out. They act like they're helping you, or that they're reasonable, but they don't stay that way. And when they get bad, they get really bad. You've seen what Hels does to me."

"Uhm, actually I haven't. You don't talk about it. We try to get you to talk about it, and you don't talk about it," Tango spat angrily. "All we see are the death messages in chat, and even then, those have been gone for ages? He sure doesn't seem to be bothering you all that much."

That was mean spirited, but it finally got a reaction, the crinkling around Welsknight's eyes as his concerned frown turned into something more emotional and fraught.

"That's because I've worked really hard to get him off my back."

"From what Tanguish says, you're the one bothering him," Tango sniffed. Welsknight opened his mouth to argue, but Tango was already shouting over him, "Look! It doesn't matter because this isn't about you Wels. This is about me, and my helsmet, and how mine is nice. I'm sorry you're all knightly and fraught over this or whatever, but Tanguish has never once hurt me. Not even unintentionally. Sometimes I wonder if they guy even knows how to think for himself."

"Then you're doing something already that he wants you to do," Welsknight insisted.

"Oh get over yourself Wels."

"I'm serious Tango, this is concerning. He shouldn't be this attached to you. They're made to make us worse. He's probably hiding something from you."

Tango lightly kicked a hopper in his module, and watched as the redstone blinked and everything powered. He rubbed his eyes. His head was really starting to hurt. It was hard to focus. He also kind of wanted to cry, which was very, very stupid.

"I'm building a game I want my friends to play," Tango told himself, and he rubbed his eyes harder. He wasn't crying, it was the migraine. He needed sleep. "Because I like my friends and I'm proud of my work, and I want them to enjoy something with me. I'm not doing it because I'm scared of them."

"You know what your problem is?" Tango had yelled at Welsknight. "You're upset because Helsknight forces you to feel stuff, and that makes you uncomfortable."

"That's ridiculous." Like a disappointed dad rolling his eyes at a kid who insisted the Tooth Fairy was real.

"You're always so composed," Tango said scathingly, all sparks, and redstone, and fire, and the desire to break something, because if he was loud enough he could scream the paranoia away. "You're always trying to do things right, and then he shows up and suddenly you get angry, and you say emotional things in chat, and you talk to people about what scares you and--"

"He's a demon, Tango," Welsknight snapped, suddenly much less aloof. "They're all demons. They are fighting over our souls with us."

"They're filling needs." Tango said. "You're just jealous mine knew I needed a friend, and you needed someone to remind you you're not perfect."

That one hadn't felt good. Well, it felt good at the time. But everyone knew, in that unspoken way everyone knew you didn't joke with Doc about losing limbs, and you didn't question False's memories, that Welsknight was hurt by his helsmet. One too many times buying health potions. One too many times seeking quiet company late at night after an ominous death message in chat. One too many times caught scrubbing blood out of armor. One too many self-deprecative comments that seemed to come out of nowhere, evidence of bitter meditation on something told him by a cruel tongue. It had felt good at the time. But Welsknight had looked at him like he'd been stabbed. And like a man viciously trying to ignore a stab wound, he said, in that voice of reason like sunlight: "Say what you want Tango, but I'm not letting you go through this alone. I'm sorry."

And then, because anything else would've led to more unkind words, he'd left.

Tango looked down at the redstone line. He didn't remember walking back down it again, but he was pretty sure the module he'd been checking wasn't broken. He wished it were broken. He could set it to order and go to bed. But it wasn't broken. It was working as intended. He didn't know what to do about it. Something in this line was broken. It wasn't working right. He needed it to work right. He needed sleep. He needed Welsknight to stop being so noble, and confident. Because noble and confident people always sounded right, even if they weren't, and Welsknight couldn't be right.

<He's never hurt you before.>

No helsmet is harmless.

They are demons fighting over our souls.

If he isn't hurting you, it's because you're already doing what he wants.

Tango scrubbed his eyes with his hands.

Tango scowled and buried his face in his hands.

Tango yanked his pickaxe from his inventory and threw it as hard as he could off the side of his redstone line, watching it slam into two other lines on its way down into the bowels of Decked Out. When the last clatter had stopped sounding, his watch beeped. Tango read it with bleary, exhausted eyes. It took a few times to read it correctly.

[You are on Do Not Disturb]

[Incoming Message from Welsknight. Allow notification?]

[Y/N]

Tango felt a nauseous twist in his stomach.

"I want Tanguish," he said to the empty room.

He denied the message. He started walking down the redstone line. He needed to fix something before he went to bed.

#rns ficlets #tangotek #welsknight #this one was interesting to pick at

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glitchedmagic · 8 months

Text

@theminecraftbee ‘s ficlets about Decked Out eating Tango have been living in my head rent free so here’s a little post-do thing of my own.

“The server resets tonight.”

It’s been just over two months since Decked Out finished. Just over two months since anyone has seen or heard from Tango.

Zed knows what happened. Not the details. And he certainly couldn’t explain it to anyone else. But he knows.

And the gnawing feeling of guilt has kept him coming back to the dungeon. Every day.

Decked Out is asleep. Zed can walk through the citadel without a desperate need to throw himself to the ravengers. He can even wander below, into the redstone, without being electrocuted to death. Maybe it’s dead, but Zed doubts it. He knows it’s just sleeping. Eventually, it will wake up. It will be hungry and will lure whoever enters this world into its depths.

Maybe that’s when Tango will wake up too.

Zed won’t be here to see it.

“Who knows when you’ll be able to eat again?”

His voice is quiet but he knows the whole dungeon can hear him. He plays with the clasp on his gas mask. Tango’s storage room, where he lays on the dusty floor, has enough oxygen flowing through it still to allow him to breathe without the mask, though he’s already getting a bit of a headache. He’ll put the mask back on soon. Eventually.

“One last snack?”

He’s offered the dungeon himself hundreds of times these past few months. As a player, when it was live, hoping to spark a bit of his friend’s life back into him. Then after. Hoping for something. For a glimpse of flickering blue flame and wide eyes that had long since given up pretending to see.

There’s quiet.

There’s so much guilt in the quiet.

Don’t worry, Zed. Just a few months. Not too big of a project.

All good here. With level one done, the rest will go a lot quicker.

Yeah, level three got away from me a bit. Level four will be smaller, don’t worry.

Audio needed to be reworked, you know how it is. Soon.

Just tired, lost track of time last night.

Not too much longer now.

Don’t worry, I’ll be back to normal when the game’s done. Promise.

Did Tango know he was lying?

Zed is well aware that what he’s doing isn’t good for him. It’s ironic, how Tango pulled away from everyone, to eventually disappear in this cave. And now Zed’s doing the same thing.

It was always Tango pulling Zed out. Into the sun for a stupid game or a ridiculous project. So it makes sense that without him, Zed can’t bring himself to leave the hole.

“I could break more redstone.” Zed offers the dungeon. “Really get you mad.”

He’d done that. About two weeks after Decked Out went dormant. He hadn’t gotten a reaction at the time. But the next day, everything was repaired.

That had spurred Zed into doing a stakeout. Break some stuff, sit and wait until the dungeon brought Tango out to fix it.

Zed had died down in the redstone, waiting. It hadn’t been a pleasant death.

That’s when Impulse had stepped in, staging his own intervention. But all it had done is make Zed feel more guilty.

An intervention for the guy who failed to do an intervention when Tango needed it most.

See? Ironic.

His head is starting to pound. He puts his mask back on.

“I want my friend back, you stupid castle,” He says through the mask. The dungeon understands him anyways.

He won’t be getting Tango back. He’s known that for much longer than he can admit.

Time passes. His phone dings a few times. It’s just the others. Making preparations. The server resets in just a few hours.

“Was it worth it?” Zed asks. “Not you, dumb dungeon. I’m asking Tango. Was it worth it? Did you make this choice? Did you know the consequences?”

Silence.

“Did you ever consider saying goodbye?”

The thing is? Tango was saying goodbye. In the only way he could. It was in the heartfelt artifacts crafted for each hermit. It was in his own voice, echoing words throughout the dungeon long after his own voice left him. It was in every ounce of the game.

None of them saw it until it was too late.

Zed stands. He has to be at spawn soon. He has stuff to pack. He has his own hole in the ground to say goodbye to.

He takes the long way out. Up into the main room of the citadel.

There’s a small part of him that hopes to see a glint of Tango. That’s what’s supposed to happen, right? A little wisp of blue fire. A soft voice. A gust of wind blowing a loose piece of paper across the floor. Something he can look at and be comforted by.

Nothing happens.

Zed knows that Tango’s gone.

He stands at the door. It’s open just a crack, just like he left it.

The night is clear.

“Goodbye, Tango.”

#second: its a horror story about losing yourself and being forced to accept it #me: a tragedy about not being able to say goodbye got it #also like????? in a world where death is meaningless??? THIS? THAT TYPE OF GRIEF??? HOW WOULD YOU DEAL #my 'tango is eaten by his base' hcs are a bit different from theirs but idc the vibe is very much the same #for a bit of horror that i couldn't squeeze in #i imagine that tango (as in like his physical body) is asleep somewhere in the redstone #its just impossible for anyone to find #yes the dungeon did that on purpose so none of those other stupid hermits can try and 'save him'#also idk how it would work in-world but everyone who will be playing decked out on the world download?#food for the dungeon #glitch talks #hermitcraft #tangotek #hermitfic

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cielcreations · 8 months

Text

"Special Card" (SoliTango/Rancher Duo)

Idea based off @hybbart's Deepfrost Cast AU (aka, the AU where Solidarity is a guide for Decked Out)

"What's this card?"

"What card?" Tango replied, not looking at his communicator, opting to continue to make sure everything was okay (because god forbid if even one piece of redstone gets messed up).

"I don't know, I just never seen it and it appeared."

"What does it say, Hypno?"

"The title just says 'Canary'. There's nothing else-"

"Ah, so you're the first to get that card to show itself." Tango smirked, standing up straight, "Tell you what Hypno, that card is free. Consider it a... playtest for your next run."

"Seriously?! Wait, what does it do?"

"That's for you to find out. But I will give you a word of advice-" Tango smirked more to himself, "-make sure to take care of the canary. Go ahead, spend the rest of your Frost Embers and get out of there, Cub is next."

"Alright! Thanks, Tango! I'm excited!"

The call ended when a message popped up in chat; Hypnotizd was slain by nothing, they survived Decked Out!

Tango chuckled, "I'm surprised you chose him. I for sure thought you would choose Scar."

There was a flutter behind him.

"Alright, alright, have fun. I'll go prepare for the next round."

***

Hypno rode down the minecart as he once again entered Decked Out. When he reached the end, the doors opened, but no compass was given.

"Oh god, hey, Tango, I think-"

Before he could finish, Hypno watched as the canary card fell down where the compass should be. He gasped, stumbling back as a yellow glow came from the card, snuffing out all the light, a silhouette appearing where the card once was. When the card landed on the ground, it instantly vanished, the silhouette slowly taking shape. Two large wings appeared from it's back as it stood up, a large fluffy jacket resting on the male silhouette. They reached into their jacket, taking out a small cage with a yellow light.

The lanterns, torches, and all other lights returned, showing a tall dirty blonde man, staring down at him brown eyes with blue diamond pupils, blue eye shadow resting on his top eyelid, blue freckles and glitters decorating his nose and cheeks that Hypno could see, as a gas mask covered half his face.

"....Woah..." Hypno simply said, in awe, "...Are... Are you the Canary?"

The dirty blonde nodded, bowing a bit. He then took out another thing from his jacket, avoiding the necklace around his neck before he took out a recorder. He handed it to Hypno, the man pressing play.

"Congratulations!" Tango's voice came from the recorder, "You have managed to obtain the Canary card! Now, the Canary is a special thing! He will lead you to the artifact as well as the exit as safely as he can! However, that is not all! You see, the Canary increases the amount of treasure that may be hiding in the dungeon, he decreases your noise volume which means it's harder to generate Clanks, and the Hazard speed decreases! Oh yeah, the Canary is a powerful card.

However, make sure to take care of him. He will be your guide to the exit. One way or another."

Hypno's eyes were wide as he then looked at the Canary, "You do all that?!"

The Canary blushed a light blue, closing his eyes, as if laughing silently. He then bowed and turned around, the doors opening. Hypno stood up and began to follow the Canary, the dirty blonde humming. As they walked, the Canary held out the cage, Hypno noticing the yellow light moving back and forth, acting as the compass, all while the Canary hummed a small tune.

"Uh, nice song. Does it have a name?" Hypno tried to make small talk.

The Canary seemed to ignore him, choosing instead to continue the song.

"Right.... Well, do you have a name?"

Again, nothing, just more singing.

"Okay..." Hypno smiled awkwardly, "Well, I guess we don't need to have small chitchat to find the artifact... Oh, uh, can you tell me how you can track more treasure? Or do you just track down artifacts and the exit?"

The singing stopped and the Canary turned to Hypno. He grabbed the recorder and pressed play, Tango's voice repeating.

"Hey, I was just-"

The Canary held up one finger before pausing the recorder. He pointed to it, as if to say "listen".

"-the Canary increases the amount of treasure that may be hiding in the dungeon-" The Canary pauses the recorder before blinking at Hypno.

"...Oh, you just increase the amount, can't find it?"

The Canary shook his head.

Hypno nodded, "Okay, I get it now... Can you find the exit anywhere?"

The Canary nodded.

"So, if I wanted to look for more treasure, would you come with me?"

The Canary seemed to smile under his mask and nodded.

Hypno chuckled, "Alright, I'll just tell you when I'm ready then!"

The Canary nodded once more before turning around, humming a song once more as he led the way towards the artifact. They sat in silence, Hypno occasionally seeing some coins and running to get them before following the dirty blonde once more.

Eventually, the Canary stopped and Hypno nearly ran into him.

"Oh-" Hypno stopped, "You okay?"

The Canary held the cage up, opening the door. Hypno watched as the light flew out and sunk into the ground in front of them. When it returned, it circled around an artifact, Hypno gasping and running over to grab it. The light flew back to the Canary and into the cage, the dirty blonde closing the door of it.

Hypno picked up the artifact, "Jar of Speedy Slime! Not too bad! I think it's worth at least-" He looked up, gasping.

The Canary brushed off his coat and, before he could look up at Hypno, the man ran past him in fear of a Ravenger.

"S-SORRY CANARY! I THINK I CAN FIND THE EXIT ON MY OWN THOUGH!"

Hypno went to run out of the door, but the corridor closed. He gasped and turned around, ready to meet the end of a Ravenger's horn. Instead, he saw the Canary standing in front of the Ravenger, looking down, the light in the cage spinning in loops.

"Oh? Wait, are you friends with the Raven-"

Hypno gasped, the heartbeat echoing in the dungeon as fast as it could. All the corridors closed, screeches of Vexes echoing with the slowly crumbling dungeon. The Ravenger lifted itself on it's back legs as it let out a roar, the light going haywire.

"C-Canary?"

The Canary spread his wings out, looking up, the blue diamonds turning to a blood red as he glared at Hypno. The arrow on his necklace turned upside down as the light exploded in the cage, yellow birds circling the room akin to ravens circling their prey.

Hypno's eyes were wide as he realized what was going on.

He will be your guide to the exit. One way or another.

Hypnotizd was slain by The Canary and His Coalmine.

***

"WHAT?!" "WAIT, HUH?!" "TANGO, WHAT WAS THAT?!" "WHAT KIND OF DEATH MESSAGE IS THAT?!"

Tango chuckled, turning to Hypno as he entered the waiting room, "Well, well, well, looks like someone didn't take care of the Canary."

Hypno groaned, "DUDE! I didn't know that would happen!"

"I told you to take care of him!" Tango laughed. Suddenly, a blue ball of light came from the wall, circling around the Dungeon Master. He held out his hand and it rested over it, making the blaze chuckle, "The Canary is a powerful and really good card, but he only shows when he wants to. But with any good card comes it's disadvantage." He then turned, smiling, "Alright, I believe it's Grian's turn?"

"Oh, right, right!" The avian ran over, "Wish me luck!"

Everyone wished Grian luck before Tango excused himself to go behind the scenes. Once he was sure no one would see or hear him, he extended his hand out. The light turned into a silhouette, which turned in none other than the Canary.

"Hello, my canary." The blaze smiled, blushing a blue tint, "Quite a run, are you alright?"

The dirty blonde removed his mask and smiled, nodding, "I'm fine! The Ravangers and Vexes didn't hurt me! Though, I did feel bad for Hypno, he just got scared."

Tango cupped his cheeks, "Oh Solidarity, my canary, it's what he gets if he chose to abandon you. He was warned."

"I know, I know. It's just going to take some getting used to. I know how competitive everyone is, I just don't like being the cause of death..."

"You're so sweet, this is why I love you!" Tango kissed his cheek.

Solidarity giggled, blushing blue, "Tangooooo~! Stop it~!"

"Nuh-uh! It's Kiss the Canary Time! I don't make the rules!"

The dirty blonde blushed more and giggled, letting the other do as he pleased, happily sharing kisses with the blaze.

#jimmy solidarity #empires solidarity #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #hermitcraft #tangotek #hermitcraft tango #hermitshipping #empires shipping #team rancher #rancher duo #decked out 2 #hermitcraft s9 #hermitcraft season 9 #hermitcraft smp #Deepfrost Cast AU #solitango

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theminecraftbee · 11 months

Text

Doc wakes up slowly. He's had a lovely night of sleep, cozy in bed, dreaming of fantastical misuses of withers. Hotguy gave him an autograph and personally thanked him for finally blowing up Scarland's sound system and getting one over on anyone who might make a button. For some reason, Scar's alien from season six was also there, and then it exploded. That was pretty great too. And everyone had clapped for him, and told him he was the best, most important creeper in the world, and that all of his enemies were just haters, and that they would absolutely listen to all of his opinions, which were perfect, always. And they covered the Hermitcraft server in fresh, ripened tomatoes, and everyone helped him garden them.

It really was a lovely dream. He didn't particularly want to wake up, except perhaps to tell everyone about all of the aforementioned perfect opinions. But alas, even after a perfect, lovely, cozy night of sleep, mad doctors must wake up--

--and scream, as a menacing figure holding a knife looms over his bed. He throws a punch at whoever the person is before thinking and hisses, overestimating his strength and knocking them over. He scrambles for his light.

"Owww," says someone from the floor. Wait.

Doc peers over the edge of his bed. "Grian? What on earth are you doing, man?"

"Almost falling on my knife. You know, this is harder than I thought it would be," Grian says. He is holding his knife in one hand and cradling his now very crooked, bleeding nose with the other. Doc would feel bad, but... ehhh, it's Grian. Who had been standing over his bed with a knife. He probably deserved it for... something or other, Doc'll figure it out.

"You need help?" Doc asks.

"Right. No. Let's get back to this," Grian says, standing up and brandishing the knife again. The effect is much less frightening now that the lights are on, there's blood dripping down the front of Grian's sweater, and it's clear Grian is a bit uncertain of how to look intimidating. "I need you to know Mumbo only has one best friend."

Doc blinks.

"...okay, man?" Doc says.

"What?" Grian says.

"Yeah, like, I don't know what you're talking about. Mumbo and I sometimes talk about redstone, but--"

"You talk about redstone? How dare you! Mumbo is mine, you hear? Mine!"

Doc blinks again, slower. He considers pinching himself. This would be an odd addition to an otherwise lovely, perfect dream, but dreams can become weird nightmares pretty quickly, you know? That would explain why Grian's doing whatever this is.

"I mean, I don't know, he normally comes to me about it?" Doc says.

"Cheater..." Grian says.

"What?" Doc says.

"I can't believe you two! Guh! That was my offended noise!" Grian says.

"Look, uh, I don't really understand what you're doing here man--"

"I'm warning you off of Mumbo! I heard around the block you're his best friend now, so I'm going to kill you now unless you stop that."

Doc squints. "With the knife?" he asks.

"Yes, with the knife!"

"And why am I his best friend?" Doc asks.

"You got the crown! Mumbo said whoever got the purple crown would be his best friend! That's not allowed, only I'm allowed to be his best friend! So I'm, I'm being all threatening! And stuff! Please tell me I'm being threatening," Grian says. "It's been a while since I had to do something like this, I'm modeling off of a different guy I knew, but you know, it's very important to me that you're warned off properly! So there!"

Doc looks at Grian for a while.

"Yeah, uh, man, sure. I'm... really threatened," he says.

"Really?" Grian says.

"Yeah. Really. Very threatened. Hey, uh, my elevator buttons are Grian-proof, supposedly, but I don't know if--"

"Are you--are you trying to distract me by offering me buttons? I'll have you know that doesn't work anymore! Not when it comes to Mumbo!" Grian says. "Although. Hypothetically. If you were telling me there were buttons I could press that you think wouldn't have consequences no matter what I did. That sounds like a challenge."

"Yeah, man, I mean, uh. No. Don't press my buttons--"

"Gotta go bye," Grian says, very quickly, and he shoots out of Doc's bedroom. Doc stares after him through the door.

"I'm going back to fucking bed," Doc says, because frankly, this has convinced him he doesn't need to be awake. And also a security system. A security system that can roast pesky birds. He's sure he can come up with something. Mm. Roast bird. He falls back asleep, vaguely convinced he'd dreamed up the whole incident.

(In the morning, he finds a very grumpy Grian stuck in his elevator. Well. He supposes having to fix it is worth the expression on Grian's face there.)

#hermitcraft #docm77 #grian #a bee fic #okay look just saying grian is NOT gonna be normal about this one folks

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tunastime · 9 months

Text

no place for strangers

in which BigB realizes that there are a significant number of difference sbetween him and his friends, and in which BigB decides he doesn’t really care that much.

(2333 words)

A portion of the night sky, night for only a fraction of time, is blotted out by the shape of two dark, mottled-grey wings.

He supposes he's a little jealous of that, the wings, how they shed loose feathers, how they flutter and swish and practically make no noise at all when extended. He's a bit jealous of Grian, known Watcher, much more powerful, hands twisted in the reigns of his own creation—the games. He's as much a pawn in this one as he has been in the others. But unlike BigB, he's hungry. The killing doesn't do it for him. Neither does the dying. Grian’s new—the Watchers don’t let him stay full. They chastise him for a million things and make sure he suffers, and at this point, BigB watches it happen. There isn’t much left he can do. He does less Watching and more supervising.

Maybe he's jealous of Pearl, with thin black and gold wings like a moth, ears wispy and pointed up toward the sky. The way her drooping eyes never dim, the way they both glow, silver and gold. She’s got it just as good as him, doesn’t she? Secretive and distant. Away enough to matter but not enough to cause a fuss.

But maybe he isn't. Isn't there something lurking behind his eyes when he stares at his reflection too long? Wouldn't redstone glow in his presence? Wouldn't the forest go silent and the earth hold its breath as he waited, as he watched? Wasn't there the purple remnant of where he once stood?

It doesn't matter. BigB stares up at the messy splotch that is Grian against the night sky and sighs something profound. He tried to understand him. To love him. But Grian is a widow, and everyone that loves him suffers the same. They just have, actually. Joel and Jimmy. And now Grian perches and watches and BigB watches him and there's a muted sting behind his eyes as he does. Grian doesn't turn. But his wings flutter.

"Good to know that some things stay the same," BigB says, cutting through the warm night air with a voice he hopes matches it, but he isn't sure. Grian hums, mostly questioning. His feet stay planted. BigB starts to scale the wall.

"Don't know what you mean by that," Grian questions. He turns his head slightly to the sound of BigB climbing the ladder to the top, but doesn't do much else.

"You," BigB huffs. He rests his hands on the top of the wall, pulling himself over the flat edge. He swings his legs over, and his heels bounce against the cobbles. It’s an uncomfortable resting place. He watches Grian shift from foot to foot, and wonders if the same cobbles are digging into the soles of his feet, the same way they dig into the underside of BigB’s thighs.

“Me?” Grian parrots. His eyes flick over to BigB, quick, but not so quick that BigB doesn’t catch the nervous glint of them. He rests back on his hands. The rough rock presses back against his palms, cold and uncomfortable. Luckily, the air around them is thick with humidity, heat, and a faint metallic smell. And the hum of cicadas. Their drone blocks out everything else, except the words bouncing around in BigB’s head.

"You're still no good at the emotions thing, are you?" he asks. He tilts his head as he says it, cocking it to one side as he looks over at Grian. He watches Grian’s nose wrinkle, the beginnings of his teeth baring back, as if he could bite and make anything more than an impression. BigB almost laughs. He gets it, he really does.

The thing about Grian is that he’s not an easy shape to love, and an even less easy shape to hold. Like every bird, he fears being caged, and arms are no more than a cage, and someone holding his heart is no more than a cage, so he can’t sit still, even now, even on the edge of a wall. BigB watches his wings twitch. They’re gorgeous, but there’s a sharp line through them where the flight feathers should be. They’re not much more than deadweight. Anyway—where was he? Right. Grian. Impossible to love, impossible to hold. A widow, of sorts. The words tumbled out of Scar’s mouth one time, scorned and scoffed. Grian was no more than a widow mourning the first partner he took—Scar—trying to find someone who fit the hole but wasn’t him.

But Grian kills. Who could say it was even his fault? Scar. BigB. Jimmy. Joel. Everyone he tries to love, in any shape, dies. He’s forced to starve. He’s forced to feed a higher cause.

BigB can see Grian’s calloused fingers from here, at least the pale shape of them, balanced over his shins as his wrists drape over the sharp edge of his knee. He studies him in the dim lighting before he looks away, feeling something curdling in his stomach. BigB knows his time is short. Unremarkable. And normally forgotten. That doesn’t really bother him, though. He knows the importance of his impression, here. But he wants to tug this string, just once. He knows where all the strings lie—even his own, unfortunately. Maybe that’s the one thing he knows better than Grian—he’s aware of the outcome before it happens. He doesn’t have to stop to wonder what his odds are.

“That’s not nice,” Grian begins, and BigB shrugs. The cicadas stop singing. BigB’s voice cuts through the night like a knife, cool and even.

“I’m just being honest,” he starts. He watches the stone of the clock tower for movement, eyes flicking over the shape in the dark. “Jimmy and Joel just died and you’re already trying to replace them.”

Grian huffs. He sounds indignant, almost twinged with hurt. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

BigB raises his eyebrows, tilts his head again. Grian catches his eye for a second longer, this time, and his eyes are dark and wide. His jaw is tightly set. He looks like, at any moment, his lips might curl back and expose blunt, powerless teeth. BigB wonders what that might feel like—surely unpleasant, to have someone bite down on you with the intent to do harm, but he wonders if Grian could kill him on purpose and if it might rid him of anything. It might make the smell of guilt worse, actually.

“I think you do,” BigB says.

“Enlighten me, then,” Grian grits out, teeth closing around the words with a sharp snap. “Since I can feel you trying to figure me out.”

“Not me,” BigB says. Grian shuts his eyes, pinching his eyebrows together, before he twists his body around, fast enough to hear the slight pop of his spine as it cracks. BigB can feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as Grian searches, eyes scorching the earth for any sign of—

“Pearl—”

BigB hums, but it sounds more like a laugh.

“You’re just no good at it,” he says after a beat. Grian resettles, but his wings stay fluffed, body tight with tension. He radiates energy like a coil tightly wound. BigB can feel it seeping into the seams of him, and shifts as it prickles over his skin. He leans back on his hands a little further, hoping they can carry the weight. He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know what that means, BigB,” Grian sighs, short and through his nose. His hair blows into his face. “What d’you—” He sighs again, cutting himself off with a wave of his hand.

He seems annoyed about the whole prospect of their conversation. It’s not unfounded, honestly. BigB did just climb up the ladder and start unpacking years worth of issues in front of Grian, trying to dig at the soft, bleeding center of the thing. He’s pretty sure Joel’s blood is still under his fingernails. He’s not sure if he saw it all happen. He definitely didn’t see Jimmy’s body hit the ground. Lucky, that. He’s not sure if he could watch people so used to flying be unable to use their wings when they needed it most. He thinks he might’ve seen Joel in the moment before Jimmy disappeared—Joel who was never one to let fear and grief trump anger. Or maybe the anger was his grief, like it was Tango’s, or Scar’s. Not that he saw much of that, either. Stories, mostly, things that get passed around a dim campfire at the end of the world.

Jimmy was probably just a near-lifeless body in Joel's arms, right before he was gone. Poor guy. Grian didn’t even get to them in time before it was too late. He was too late for Joel, too. Joel was ash before Grian could even make his mouth into the shape of his name. BigB wonders if they got a grave. Grian was good at building graves, so he’d like to think so. It only made sense. Grian seemed to get over it faster when there was something to mourn to.

BigB takes a second to think, pressing his tongue between his back teeth. The air is quiet around them, still, like it, too, holds the tension in Grian’s spine, like it might be twisting it taut.

“You just don’t understand how it works, you’re not good at grieving, and you’re not good at the whole grief thing, either.” BigB shrugs again, shoulders lifting just enough to be visible. He’s still not watching Grian, as much as Grian isn’t watching him, aside from the hum of them both, something wholly inhuman brushing shoulders with something that craved humanity more than anything else in the world, but could never figure out how to get it.

“You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Grian starts.

“No, you don’t,” BigB turns toward him, finally, furrowing his eyebrows. “Grian, dude—you’re faking this whole human thing to begin with, and it’s not working—”

Grian whips around to face him. His face is sharp, jaw set. “Stop—”

BigB waves him off. His voice, unlike Grian’s, stays level, twinged with annoyance, rather than anything else.

“You don’t understand what you should be guilty of, but you’re feeling it like it’s like…rotting something inside of you but you still don’t know why, and jeez, Grian, you’ve made it a crime for you to feel something.”

He sighs, waving his hands around as if it could help bolster his point any further. He feels something ache in his chest—something aching to explain it in a way that Grian could understand, in a way that he wouldn’t just fight. Grian visibly bristles, feathers on his ears rising, the red and yellow tips of them stark in the night, even in the lantern light.

“You’re on this planet too, you know, you’re allowed to let yourself feel. Messy and gross as it is. I mean, they died, man, is that anything?”

Grian swallows. BigB doesn’t watch the bob of his throat, or the way his feathers are still raised in alert as he jerks his head away. He follows Grian’s line of sight down the clock tower, where Bdubs and Cleo are talking. Bdubs looks over after a second. BigB feels a cold line run down his spine, but refuses to break his gaze. There are no sounds now, not even of his own heartbeat.

“No,” Grian manages.

BigB relaxes. Something of an easy smile finds his face, softening the shape of his eyes and the line of his jaw. He shakes his head. Grian shies away from him, but his feathers lower, and his posture sinks. He finally lowers himself to a sit, throwing his legs over the side of the wall. His hands cradle in his lap, and he stares into the palms of them. BigB remembers them as calloused, cold, and hard to hold properly. But he’s sure someone out there enjoys them.

“You’re a really bad liar,” he laughs. Grian shakes his head. His voice is much quieter as he speaks.

“I don’t care. I don’t care.”

BigB turns his head. There, for a short moment in the moonlight, he watches the shape of Grian’s left shoulder turned toward him. They rise and fall as he breathes, shudder when he sniffs and sighs, move as he shifts his body, likely feeling those same, cold, hard cobbles pressing into the soft back of his legs. He sees where the back meets the wing, where the wing relaxes down and where feathers brush stone. He sees where they rest against the cobbles, half held and half upright, as if he wants to be ready to leap at a moment's notice. As if he doesn’t know that he, too, would die on impact. BigB reaches out, settling one soft hand on his shoulder. Grian tenses, but does not jump.

“‘S alright, buddy.”

Instead, Grian deflates. BigB runs his thumb over the side of his shoulder, a friendly, comforting thing, as Grian leans back to his hand. His posture sinks to the touch, muscles weakening, wings folding back and down. Every molecule of his body, and BigB almost feels this in the air, grows heavy and tired at the subtle comfort. Grian draws what he can from it before he speaks. His voice sounds even, now, and tired.

“I miss them…” He starts. He swallows. “I missed you, too. I missed Scar.”

BigB sighs, giving Grian’s shoulder a long, warm squeeze before he lets go. Grian sways but catches himself on his hands. His body stays curved into itself.

“I know,” BigB says. “But you’ll never be over it if you never break that cycle.”

Grian shrugs. The steel starts to slip back into his voice, firm.

“I will when I win.”

BigB smiles.

“Maybe,” he says. He’s not sure he can see the end of that string yet, but the results don’t exactly look promising. “Who knows what’s in the cards?”

#bigbst4tz2 #bigbstatz #bigb #grian #limlsmp #limited life smp #limited life fic #limited life #mcyt fic #mcyt #fics #text #:3 i love bigb so much #i dont know what possessed me to write him but i plan on doing it MORE #MORE BIGB!!!! MORE THINGS ABOUT HIM #HE IS SO SPECIAL TO ME!!#this was also called 'no place for strangers' i'll probably link the ao3 when it gets posted

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vexcraft · 3 months

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Writing prompt:

Cub and Scar have had naturally white hair ever since they sold their souls to the vex. They dye it though cause they just prefer having black/brown hair.

However, nobody except them are aware of this fact. Not because they’re hiding it or anything, it’s just cause it’s never really considered it a possibility. It’s a bit of a shock to everyone when eventually news gets out.

There’s a tug at Cub’s hair and he instinctively tries to shy away from it, only to create a painful pull on his scalp.

“Cub’s getting old again! His hair’s getting white!” Bdubs yells and Cub hisses at him from where he’s crouching on the floor trying to fix redstone so they can continue playing the game. The other man lets go of his hair and Cub turns to glare at him. “I knew it was some magic trick that’s now wearing off!” Bdubs adds almost proudly, more directed at Cub than the others.

Cub rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not getting old,” he says a little defensively. Scar had told him he looked fine earlier!

“That’s not what white hairs from age look like,” Etho comments, leaning over Bdubs’ shoulder to inspect the crime scene. “Bdubs, you should know that.”

“What?!” the man gapes. Cub watches Etho take a few steps back before Bdubs turns around in faux rage. It’s quite amusing. “What do you mean I should know, are you calling me old?! Wait, how would you know what those look like? All of your hair is white!”

“I’m not stupid?” Etho suggests and there’s a wave of laughter from the few other hermits present that are actually listening to their conversation.

“Etho’s right,” Cleo says, walking over. “That’s definitely root growth.”

“Like from hair dye?” Bdubs questions, his intense gaze switching between Etho, Cleo, and Cub’s hair at light speed as he tries to make sense of the situation. “You dye your hair?”

It feels a little demeaning to have everyone stare down at him – especially at his apparently not very well dyed hair – while he’s just trying to fix his game mid event.

“It probably wouldn't look like that if I just did it myself,” Cub grumbles. “Where did Scar go? I have a few words to say to him.”

“Scar dyes your hair?!” Bdubs asks unnecessarily loudly. “Dude, I would not let that man near my precious hair with hair dye in a million years!”

Cub almost disagrees and points out that Scar isn’t too bad with it, before remembering the very situation he’s in right now. Speak of the devil and he shall appear – Cub watches Scar walk over, probably alerted by Bdubs’ yelling.

“Who’s talking about me?” he asks with a wide grin, too-sharp teeth on display. Cub gives him an unimpressed stare.

“Is it true you dye Cub’s hair?” Bdubs questions instantly and Scar looks a little taken off guard by the sudden question thrown his way.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies casually. “It’s a vex thing, the white hair. What about it?”

Bdubs stares at him like he just said something more outrageous than that, clearly not impressed by the nonchalance. “A vex thing- does that mean your hair is white too?!”

“It is, yeah,” Scar shrugs. “I prefer brown though. I thought you knew this, my hair was white in Last Life when I didn’t feel like dyeing it.”

“I thought your hair just kinda did that or something!” Bdubs tries to defend himself and Cleo snorts. “Don’t laugh! He could’ve dyed it white or something, I didn’t think he'd been dyeing it brown for like, what, seven years! And Cub too, he does not strike me as a hair dye kinda guy! Don’t act like you guys knew about this!”

Etho and Cleo both shrug. The other hermits don’t disagree, though Cub knows Joe already knew this but seems to have decided to remain quiet, probably for his own entertainment.

“Well, the more you know,” Scar replies cheerfully. “I don’t think I’ve really talked about it to anyone to be fair. How did this come up anyway?”

“You said I look fine this morning,” Cub finally speaks up and Scar turns to look at him. “But apparently I have root growth. Scar, I look stupid.”

Realization finally dawns on Scar’s face as his gaze shifts from Cub’s sour face to his hair, noticing his mistake. His smirk turns into a sheepish smile. “Whoops?”

#asks #cubfan135 #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #jules hc txt

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