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skywillsometimeswrite · 4 years

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Why?

So I got really inspired by @target-block ‘s Evil!Impulse and Evil!Stress AU and so I decided let’s throw a hastily written fic at them

(I have barely watched Impulse, and I haven’t seen much of Stress, so literally it’s all spitballing but they’re evil so its fiiiiine)

Read it on AO3

“Why, Impulse? Why are you doing this?”

Impulse glanced over his shoulder at his old friends, Bdubs physically holding Tango back. If Bdubs even loosened his grip Tango would most definitely charge right at Impulse. He wonders if his old friend would hit him. He was never the particularly violent type, so maybe he would try and talk him out of the high that he was currently riding from his carnage spree. Would he hug him and try and use some heartfelt words to sway him back over to being his old self? The thought amused Impulse, making his smile grow to show his teeth off.

He laughed, loud and hearty, just like he used to at Zedaph’s more ridiculous ideas, or when Bdubs would get himself blown up. He caught a glimpse of Tango’s confused expression shifting into one of betrayal before he looked out on the damage that he had caused.

He breathed in the tell tale smell of wither roses, relishing in his handiwork as ghasts, blazes, and even a few withers flew around the shopping district. The roses had a distinct smell, one that mingled quite well with smoke, nether wart, and spider eyes as he had learned when concocting this most magnificent scheme with his two partners in crime. That beautiful symphony of smells now hung over the shopping district, the once green grass Scar placed now brown and dead or black with the wither effect seeping into its roots. Impulse thought it was quite the improvement. The place had gotten to be a bit too colorful for his liking.

“Why?” He echoes back to Tango, spinning on his heel. He held a wither rose in his calloused hand that had become immune to the wither effect the plant held. His fingertips were stained black and faded as they went down. He had lost full feeling in them ages ago, but that never hindered him. If anything, it helped since he didn’t have to worry as much about his own weapons and traps hurting him when he set them up. Not to mention facing down wither skeletons in the nether had become nothing but a simple chore. “You want to know why?”

“Yes! Why would you betray us like this? What have we ever done to you?” Bdubs’ voice grated against Impulse’s ear drums and he couldn’t help how he nearly crushed the precious flower in his fist.

Impulse walked towards his previous coworkers, circling them on top of Scar’s magnificent Scara Junior. Impulse picked the black petals off of the rose, letting them flutter down onto the organic material of the stem, and lazily watched as they formed a circle of decay around his enemies. Ordinarily, just the petals wouldn’t do much, but the stem soaked up all of the withering effect that it could. It quickly spread to the point underneath Tango and Bdubs, and despite how the two tried, they were never particularly strong: in will or in body. Their coughs and groans as their beings filled with unwavering pain was music to Impulse’s ears, even more so as he felt the familiar feeling creep up his own legs and reinvigorate him.

“What have you ever done to me?” Impulse’s voice raised, incredulous, before it fell again, black particles falling from his mouth as the withering effect spread within his body. “Are you serious? The better question is what haven’t you done to me?

All you guys have ever done is use me. I finish one job, and you guys want something bigger. And every time I’m lucky if I get even a little bit of gratitude. I help you with your games, I help you with your projects, I help you with your farms, I give you resources, I design new machines and what do I get in return? A ‘thanks’ and a guarantee that you’ll come back to me when you need something else.”

He kneeled in front of the two hermits, both of them holding their chests as the incredible, beautifully hideous wither spread through them, slowly draining away their life. That was probably one of Impulse’s favorite parts of using the petals over full flowers: it was a lot slower of a death.

He gently put one of his wither tainted fingers underneath Tango’s chin, lifting his head up so he could look into his pain filled red eyes. “Even you, Tango. The only reason I’m here is because you needed someone to do your work for you. I’m surprised you didn’t see this coming.”

Tango opened his mouth, a strangled sound escaping in what almost sounded like a word before it devolved into horrendous coughs that brought a smile to Impulse’s face. He dropped the other’s head, standing proudly over the men.

This was by far the best payment he could have asked for.

-----

“Stress, I don’t understand, why are you doing all this?”

Iskall was precariously balancing on the Logz blimp, his arms out as he tried to steady himself. This sight caused Stress to giggle, and Iskall’s disturbed expression at the almost normal sound was clear on his face. She knew, if it had been anyone else standing in front of him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to charge forward and impale them. But this was Stress in front of him, his best friend. He adored her, and she knew that very well. So of course she was going to use that to her advantage.

“You’re a smart guy, Iskall, I’m sure you can figure it out.” She said, catching how his eyes drifted out over the shopping district and to the roof of the Colored Complete shop. Now that she didn’t appreciate. She wasn’t harmless, perhaps she had to remind him of this.

She twirled a lingering potion in her hand, spinning it on her fingertip before gingerly tossing it at Iskall’s feet. It shattered, the sickly green liquid exploding all over the wood. The fumes quickly wafted up, causing Iskall to cover his mouth, but it was all too late. The poison spread through his body, making his vision sway and his stomach retch, Stress knew. She had tested it enough times to know the exact effects on a person, and she didn’t need a watch to know exactly when it would end.

“You should keep your eyes on me if you know what’s good for you, luv. I’m not some cute dainty flower, you know -- well, I am adorable, but that's not the point, now is it?”

Iskall was definitely one of the tougher hermits, she had to give him that. Most anyone else would be rendered incapacitated from her enhanced poison potions, but he managed to glare at her between wet coughs. He took a few steps towards her, out of the fading cloud of poisonous fumes, and took a deep breath of air. Not that it would help him much, considering the amount of smoke that lingered around them.

“Seriously, Stress, what is all this about? We’re friends aren’t we? What’s gotten into you?”

She rolled her eyes, groaning at such a typical Iskall response. Really, he couldn’t be more predictable could he? She pulled out a splash potion, watching the ink black liquid swirl around inside the fragile glass.

“You really think I’m so simple, do ya?” She took a step forward, watching Iskall take a step backwards from the corner of her eye. “Sure, we were friends, Iskall. But that got old real quick, it did. Y’see I got real tired of being this little do gooder that could do no wrong. The one everyone underestimated. I wanted to prove to all of you how easily you were to fool. How easily I could fool you.”

She grinned at Iskall’s wide eye and shaking legs as she took another step forward. “You’re all really stupid, you know that? None of you even thought to suspect us! And we weren’t barely subtle at all. Luckily for us, you lot were so happy to cling on to the idea of poor Falsie being behind all of our messes that you didn’t look any farther into it!”

She sighed, squishing her cheek with the palm of her hand as she thought about it. “I do feel a lil’ bad, you know. About Falsie. I honestly didn’t think you’d straight up ban her. Must’ve been pretty scary for her.”

“We thought-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you lot thought. That sweet ol’ Impy and I wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?” She tossed the potion at him, knowing that he was enshrouded in darkness. Even his mechanical eye couldn’t see past a blindness potion that she had made. She walked towards him, sliding her hand up his arm and getting right up close to him. She wished she could frame his look of terror when she whispered:

“Do you still think that?”

-----

“Grian, mate, really you gotta explain this to me. All of this. I-I don’t get why you’re doing all this.”

Ariana rolled her eyes at Mumbo. “How many times do I have to tell all of you? I’m not Grian, I’m Ariana Griande. I swear, you all are terrible with names.” She tutted.

“Yeah, right, whatever your name is, you need to stop this. Please. Or- Or at least tell me why you’re doing this. We can figure this out, I’m sure.”

Araina’s heels clicked on the noteblocks she stood on, walking over them as she examined Mumbo carefully. She hummed every note that played with every footstep she took. Sure, maybe Etho’s work was more refined and practiced, but Ariana was known for her voice not her instrumental talent. And of course for her explosive and fiery personality. Why else would Stress and Impulse recruit her?

“I think the better question is why wouldn’t I be doing this?” She asked Mumbo as she hopped off the noteblocks and onto the white concrete that made up the roof of Colored Complete. It was more grey now from all the smoke, but she thought that it looked far prettier that way. Fire always gave things that extra spice they needed.

“What?”

“Oh, come on Mumbo. Are you telling me you’ve never wanted to create a little chaos before?”

He spluttered, looking at her as if she was crazy before gesturing to the currently crisping shopping district. “This- this isn’t just ‘a little chaos!’ Grian, if you think this is all some harmless prank you gotta snap out of it, man. This is way, way, way worse than anything else you’ve ever done.”

“Ariana.” She corrected him again before walking to stand next to him and survey her fine handiwork. She had to compliment Impulse, the nether mods definitely helped a lot with the fire bit. And the ghasts certainly helped in the blowy-uppy part. Of course, most of the larger destruction was her own direct doing and she was quite proud of it all, even if it had made her skirt flutter up a little bit. She could sacrifice a little modesty for the sake of her art.

“And Mumbo, my dear Mumbo, I don’t think this is some harmless prank or whatever. No, I think,” she threw her arm over his shoulder, the heels making the reach less awkward. She still had to pull the man down to her height, though. “I think this is art. Beautiful art.”

She let him go, happily skipping back over to her noteblocks and sitting down on one, crossing her legs as she smiled out over the marvelously demolished shopping district. Her smile grew as a blaze lit a lone piece of TNT, the explosion adding to the brilliant cacophony of sounds that were already in the air. The crackling of fire, the screeches of ghasts, the breathy roars of withers, and of course her favorite sound: the panicked screaming of the hermits as they scrambled to salvage as much as they could.

Really, did she even need to explain why she did all of this? Why they did all of this? It seemed pretty obvious to her.

“You see, Mumbo, it’s all about making a statement.”

#sky writes #target-block #evil impulse and stress au #work: why?#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #impulsesv #stressmonster #stressmonster101 #grian #ariana griande #i should be writing literally anything else #and yet here i am #because this is such a fun au #i know hels and ex are also in this au somewhere #but i wanted to focus on these three mainly #also ariana griande has only been referred to as she/her so

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writing-the-end · 4 years

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Feral Friendship- Part 4

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

The last oneshot during the span of wandering stars! Every ten chapters, after chapter X1, I’d post this silly little story. There’s still two more parts, so they might be drizzled in with LoL. But after this, it’s a straight shot to the finale!

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

“Things couldn’t have gone smoother on the way out. We found the dig team, though they’re definitely going to need some help escaping the hellpit they’re stuck in.” Cleo unfurls the red banner before Joe and Cub, watching both men sit up and reach for what the girls retrieved. Cleo winces as False plucks a cactus needle from her shoulder. “It was the way back that was...rough.”

“What happened to y’all?” Joe slides over the map to help pull thorns from his friends. They’re covered in cactus spines, some even whole pieces of the plant. Like burrs, stuck to skin rather than clothes.

“We captured the flag, though it was perched on a cactus. But then the sand around us started to fall. We managed to run through without falling in, but only by tossing ourselves into a whole stand of the prickly plants.” Cleo folds the banner to be hung. “It really, really hurt for sure.”

“Is that it?” Cub questions. “Why are you soaking wet?”

“We figured out where the last flag is!” Stress squeals, before hissing a curse under her breath when False takes the moment of excitement to pull out another needle.

“Really? Where is it? What kind of traps are there? Have all three been keeping it hidden?” Cub is hungry for the information. Finally, things are going right for the hermits. Avon has been chased off at least five times, searching for their last flag. But they may know exactly where her team’s is.

“It’s in the ocean. We don’t know where, but we tried goin’ in. A huge wave just spat us out every time.” It definitely was too often, too precisely timed to be anything but Red. It was torturous, the moment they finally got deep enough to consider swimming, the ocean would thrash them back to the beach.

The trio left the jungle at midnight, and dawn is just starting to peek out. “We couldn’t get a good look at what’s underwater, but it has to be down there. They’re playing to their strengths.”

Cub looks down at his map. He moves the final scrap into the blue at the edge of the playfield. It makes sense that the wanderers would be using the land to maximize such small numbers. But it still makes no sense how Red is the last one to face. He was sure Avon would be the final boss, and Red would have just given it up. Everything Cub thought he knew has been turned around. “This is it. We’re so close to winning. Cleo, you take half the gang, our best fighters, and take on the ocean. Joe and I will keep Avon at bay here.”

If they can keep Avon from finding their flag, all while going for Red’s, then this game is as good as won. How hard can Red’s flag be? Cleo grins, saluting Cub and marching off with the other girls. They’re definitely a part of the fighting team, and she’d want no one else at her side. Also they still need to get the rest of the cactus needles off them.

Once they’re out of Cub’s earshot, False groans. “We have to go all the way back and retrieve another flag? Do you think we’ll have to face Ecto going in?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. They have to be on high alert because of our job.” Cleo looks up, seeing a shadowy figure flying high in the sky, only to be chased off by two other people. Avon. “At least she hasn’t found the last one yet. But I don’t think she’s going to ever stop looking.”

The other two nod in agreement, before False leans over and strips Stress of a couple thorns- much to the behest of the magenta master. Down a dirt path, the trees open up to the clearing where every other hermit has been resting. They retreated from the border to protect the last flag, taking shifts and keeping one eye on the sky at all times.

“It seems like Avon’s the only one going after our flags.” Jevin mumbles as he watches a steak cook on the campfire. He’s so hungry, he could eat a whole cow.

“That’s why we need to keep an eye on every last thing, man.” Zedaph adds. “They could be tricking us! Distracting us with Avon while Red or Ecto are creeping in on the flag.”

“Do you really think they’re that well strategized?” Etho questions, looking up and watching the winged wanderer circling in the morning sun. She’s like a phantom, but worse. At least phantoms burn in the day.

“They may not, but we are.” Cleo flourishes her rapier, digging the tip into the ground and leaning on it proudly. She calls out the names of hermits she knows are good with a weapon. Be it a sword, bow, or trident, the camp is soon divided into two groups. One to go with the girls, take on whatever Ecto and Red have waiting for them. And one to remain behind, fend off Avon and keep their own flag from the clutches of the wanderers.

“Cleo, do you think you should do a rallying talk or somethin’? To boost team morale? Yer the best of us when it comes to elegant prose.” Stress asks.

“Yeah, you’re the best wordsmith, you and Joe. An artist of literature. Give us an awesome speech.” False pushes Cleo forward. Into the sunlight shafting through the trees.

Cleo clears her throat, taking a deep breath and looking out across the other hermits. She needs a rousing speech, to stir the hearts of all hermitkind. Cleo brushes back her hair, and finally speaks. “Try not to get deded, guys.”

And that’s all she got.

_________________________________________

If rushing the cactus barrier was equivalent to bastille, then making it across the desert was comparable to Normandy. A large swatch of the desert was still trapped or guarded by cacti, sand waiting to be disturbed by ignorant feet. Waiting to swallow the hermits whole at any moment. The cacti had to be squeezed past like they were lava floes, even the hermits with armor avoided the prickly plant to the best of their ability.

But worst of all in the desert wasn’t the pitfalls, or the cacti. It wasn’t even the numerous husks that refused to die in the sunlight. It was a creature more terrifying, more dangerous than any creeper. Ecto with a bow.

She appeared from nowhere, leaping across cacti without a care for getting hurt. She knew how to stand just right so that she avoided getting the worst damage. Arrows would whiz past the hermits, opening up caverns in the sand all around them. None of Ecto’s arrows ever actually hit the invasion, but perhaps because they were running too fast for her to get a good shot. They aren’t retreating, but rather pushing through the desert to reach the shoreline.

The water is calm, not even a ripple against the sands. False pulls out her sword. “Do you think we’ll make it in this time?”

“We won’t stop until we do. Stress, does everyone have potions?” Cleo hears the clinking noise of glass bottles, cork stops being freed, and the rapid drinking of the disgusting liquid. Most potions don’t taste good, unless it’s swiftness or healing. Swiftness just tastes like soda, but a potion of healing might as well be the nectar of the gods. Ambrosia, sweet and savory. But every other potion leaves the consumer with a twisted face. A potion of leaping usually still has fur in the mix, strength leaves a burning sensation down the throat, and even slow falling feels like a residue of the phantom is still around well after brewing.

But water breathing has to be the worst. It’s viscous, slowly rolling down in a thick mix between liquid and solid. Like applesauce and sand mixed into a disgusting puree. The aftertaste is vaguely reminiscent of being poisoned, but with more fish. And within the potion, scales of the pufferfish float. Waiting to get stuck in between teeth or halfway down the gullet.

But with no clue where the flag is underwater, the hermits have to take their medicine. Even Cleo gags, gulping the potion down. Keralis coughs behind her, nearly retching. “Ugh, it tastes like seaweed.”

“It tastes worse than seaweed.” Xisuma corrects, face twisted. “Let’s just get this done quick so we don’t have to drink more.”

Xisuma wades into the water, holding his sword and peering into the world below the waves. The girls wait for a wave to toss him back to shore, but it never arrives. Cleo isn’t sure if she likes that change. Something feels off. A horrible feeling is setting in on her. She feels like she’s playing demise all over again, suddenly every little thing can be a way for her to lose. “Xisuma, please watch-”

In a blink, the space XIsuma occupied is empty. The entire team leaps back, and only Keralis dares to speak up. “Sheshwammy. He’s...he’s gone.”

“What even happened?” Tango questions, daring to shuffle forward to where Xisuma once stood. Everyone braces for Tango to get swept away as well, but nothing happens. Confidently, Tango jumps into the deeper water like nothing can kill him. He’s better at this than Xisuma.

The others move forward, in a united front, like penguins waiting to see which poor soul would be the first to brave the dangers below. Just as they’re about to dive in, Tango resurfaces. Bubbles surface around him, like the water is boiling. Dragging him back even as his fingers grip the sandy shallows. Kelp is wrapped around his feet, hobbling him from kicking. “Tell my dungeon game I love it!”

Tango loses his grip, and disappears into the depths. Doc attempts to grab his hermit son from being towed out to sea, but only dives headfirst into the saltwater. He blinks the water, taking a deep breath of the ocean.

And seeing the horror before him. Nothing that Ecto or Avon ever did could prepare him for what he’s laid his eyes upon. It’s worse than demise, or the civil war. Tall kelp plants wrap around red blocks of TNT, explosive seeds waving in the current. Waiting to be brushed by and set off. Sharp coral fans spike the field before him, razors hoping to slice the hermits like swords. The ocean is filled with more pufferfish than Doc can count, bumping into one another and inflating. Spikes of poison to lace into the skin of an unsuspecting hermit. A drowned floats up from the coral reef, slack jaw gurgling water as a slimy arm tosses a trident. It narrowly misses Doc, but does hit another trap just behind him. Ink spills from the clutch of sacs, darkening the water and obscuring his sight. He can’t even see his own sword as he swings it in front of him.

Doc wipes the ink free of his eyes, burning at the mucusy ink all over him. Guardians are flooding the ocean, bubble beams grabbing hold of any unfortunate soul and dragging them into the depths. Far from the surface, through a crag field of coral, and deep into a cave below. He can hear his friends screaming, either fleeing or being attacked by what seems like the entire ocean.

He can also hear...singing? It whispers on the current, every so often punctuated by a laugh. While the laughs are bubbly, floating up to the surface as the giggle rises in pitch, the song is being sung slowly, in a key that makes every hair on Doc’s body stand on end. “I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea…”

Doc knows this song. He spent enough time around Wels to pick up a few sea shanties. And what he remembers, nothing good happens at the end of the story. “Whe-where are you? S-show yourself, coward!”

But Red never appears, despite the laughter continuing before the humming picks back up. A guardian turns it’s eye on Doc, brow furrowing. Bubbles begin to churn the water between the fish and Doc. He can feel himself being pulled in, like a rip current dragging him out to sea. “Then up jumps the shark with his nine rows of teeth.”

He needs to get out. Now. There’s no hope to save the hermits already gone, but maybe at least a few escaped before the traps got them. Doc swims as hard as he can, clawing at the sand and gripping the stalks of kelp to escape the pull of the bubbles. He needs to get back. He needs to report to Cub. Doc breaks free of the bubble beam, launching himself from barely moving more than an inch to being thrown onto the dry shore.

“Oh thank goodness. Where are the others?” Cleo grabs Doc, hauling him to his feet and brushing the sand from the soaking wet labcoat.

“They’re gone. It’s too late. We have to get out of here.”

#wandering stars #ecto #red #avon #hermitblr #hermitcraft #docm77 #zombiecleo #cubfan135 #falsesymmetry #joehills #mcsona #minesona #minecraft persona #writing

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