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sparxwrites · 1 year

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The Body Shots Incident

A prequel-ish to this nonsense, aka "the origin story of the Hermitcraft server party tequila ban". cw for lots of alcohol consumption and excessive innuendo [ao3]

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Mumbo, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He’s trying to delay the inevitable – primarily, being shirtless in front of a lot of people with Scar ‘Godlike Abs’ Goodtimes right next to him for comparison. It’s not working very well. “Just, I can think of, off the top of my head, oh, sixteen ways this could go wrong. At least three of them end with us respawning. At least.”

“Oh, no!” Scar, already reclining across a table in a distinctly louche manner, is nude from the waist up and looking distinctly self-satisfied about it. If anybody present knew who Jeff Goldblum was, multiple comparisons would have already been made. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Scar, unlike Mumbo, had taken his shirt off with precisely zero shame and absolutely maximum enthusiasm as soon as the whole concept had been suggested. It had taken three people – Bdubs included, remarkably – to stop him from removing his belt and pants as well.

Mumbo’s unclear whether the nearly-double-digits-worth of brightly coloured cocktails are to blame for Scar’s enthusiastic stripping, or whether this is just a Scar Thing. Probably just a Scar Thing, if he’s being honest. The man’s shredded. If Mumbo had pecs and abs like that, he’d take his shirt off all the time too.

“Okay, both of you, lie down,” says Pearl, officiously. Or as officious as one can be, after multiple bottles of Prosecco and a round of Jaeger bombs – which is frankly not very. She’s wielding a salt shaker in one hand, like it’s a hand grenade; two lime slices in the other, like– some other kind of weapon. Or something. Mumbo’s not exactly sober right now, either. Similes are a little beyond him at this point.

Scar, already draped elegantly across his own table, gestures to Mumbo with a raised eyebrow.

Mumbo, very reluctantly, sheds his shirt.

Grian, loitering next to Impulse, wolf-whistles in what Mumbo assumes is supposed to be a supportive sort of way. It doesn’t feel very supportive. Doesn’t do much to actually support him, either. Mostly, it just makes him go bright red – brighter red than he’d already gone, anyways, at having so much skin exposed in a room full of people.

Though admittedly not that many people, realistically. There’s him and Grian, as a team; Scar and Bdubs, as the opposing team; and Impulse, the judge of this ill-conceived competition. And Pearl, of course, as his self-proclaimed beautiful assistant. But pretty much every other Hermit is on the other side of the room, busy getting drunk and being noisy. Usual server party stuff.

It’s only them over here, with the two tables in the room not currently covered in alcohol and cups, because Grian and Bdubs had had a stupid argument, and decided that clearly the best way to solve it was a body shots competition, of all things. Which, yeah, sure, tracks as far as drunk Bdubs and Grian logic goes, but– Mumbo’s not even sure how you score a body shots competition.

That’s what they have Impulse for, though. Impulse knows how to judge a body shots competition. Probably.

So there’s not that many people watching, by the grace of any god paying attention. It’s just that, well. Mumbo has his shirt off. Right next to Scar Goodtimes, abs god extraordinaire. And Mumbo’s got no abs, and skin pale enough a vampire would flinch from it, and a soft little belly, and enough body hair it probably technically counts as thermal insulation.

And, to put the icing on the misery cake, pert little nipples. It’s not his fault it’s bloody cold with his shirt off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to stop anyone from commenting on their pertness.

“Nice nips, Mumbo,” says Grian, as though he’d read Mumbo’s mind in the worst, most malicious way possible. He cackles when Mumbo turns self-consciously pink. “Hey! That was a compliment!”

Impulse clears his throat. “No– no commenting on competitors’ nipples without their explicit consent. Well-established rule of body shots competitions that I definitely didn’t just make up. I mean. Preferably no commenting on nipples at all but–”

“Don’t worry, Grian,” interjects Scar, cheerfully. “You can comment on my nipples all you like.”

“Thanks, Scar. That’s great. I appreciate the offer.” Grian does not, under any possible stretch of the imagination, sound like he appreciates the offer.

“Hey!” snaps Bdubs, immediately, outraged on a reflex. “No commenting on my competition partner’s nipples, okay?! Get your own!”

Grian, moderately drunk and visibly bewildered, flounders. “Get… my own nipples…?”

“Yeah! Get your own nipples, Mister!”

“Anyway,” says Impulse, loudly, clapping his hands together. Several Hermits look over. A few drift over for a closer look. Mumbo’s insides curl up like a dying spider. “If we could, uh, get things started…? Pearl–?”

Pearl crosses her arms.

“–sorry, my beautiful assistant, Pearl, could you do the salt, if our contestants want to lie down…?”

“On it!” says Pearl, with entirely too much glee. She approaches, menacing, salt shaker and lime slices in hand.

Both Scar and Mumbo, rather hurriedly, scramble to arrange themselves appropriately for their salting, and then endeavour to lie very, very still. They get a lime slice placed besides their head for their troubles.

Mumbo is chosen as the first victim for salting. He holds himself frozen on the table – deer-in-the-headlights frozen, even – as Pearl, tongue between her teeth in concentration, begins to tip salt in a line down his chest, right between his pecs. It’s a pretty wobbly line. Mumbo blames the Jaeger bombs.

“This is ridiculous,” mutters Grian, watching his half-naked best friend get salted like a slug by a drunk Australian. This, Mumbo feels, is a bit rich coming from the man who enthusiastically agreed to the idea when Bdubs proposed it.

Bdubs glowers at him by way of reply. Impulse just looks tired.

When Mumbo has had the appropriate salt applied, Pearl moves onto Scar. She wields the salt shaker like a loaded gun, and is doing a poor job of muffling her giggles. Those in her way move out of the way, very quickly, as she heads to Scar’s table.

“Do not get that on my nipples, by the way, Pearl,” says Scar, firmly, craning his head up as she approaches to watch the proceedings. “I don’t want any chafing!”

Pearl, already struggling to keep anything so much as approaching a straight face, barely manages to set the salt down before she doubles over in hysterics. “Im– Impulse–” she manages, wheezing, her grip on the edge of the table the only thing keeping her upright. “Gonna– tagging– tagging you in, mate, oh, oh my–”

Impulse, with an apologetic twist of the mouth in both Mumbo and Scar’s directions, takes up the salt.

His attempt at setting up a line of salt down Scar’s chest goes significantly better than Pearl’s did with Mumbo, primarily because he’s not a bottle and a half of prosecco down and sloppy drunk with it – just a few beers tipsy, instead. In short order, the pair of them are salted, with a lime slice ready to go in their mouths when the competition begins. Then he heads off to fill shot glasses of tequila, with the tongue-between-teeth concentration and unsteady hand of the moderately inebriated.

Bdubs and Grian take the opportunity to approach and examine their victims.

“Cute,” says Grian, and pokes Mumbo in the bellybutton.

Mumbo yelps, raising a hand to swat at him, before freezing when he remembers the salt. “Hey! No– no. I am sensitive. No poking.”

“Ooh,” interrupts Bdubs, peering nosily over at the competition. At Mumbo’s chest, specifically, and the thick fuzz of dark body hair growing across it. Much of the salt has ended up across it – or, rather, beneath it, within it, and amongst it. Mumbo’s not looking forward to tomorrow’s shower. “Look at that. Very nice. Lucky you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?” he asks, disbelievingly. “I– look, no offence, Mumbo, I’ve got nothing against a good bit of chest hair, but… I’m just not convinced licking it is going to be the best sensation in the world.”

“Lucky,” repeats Bdubs, firmly.

“You want to swap…?” Grian is once more visibly bewildered. Though, admittedly, that’s not an uncommon expression to find people around Bdubs wearing. “Because that’s fine, I don’t mind–”

“I do not want you two to swap,” mutters Mumbo, nervously.

He’s concertedly ignored by everyone involved.

“Aha!” Bdubs grabs Grian by the front of his jumper with both hands. “So it is true. You are trying to steal Scar from me, and you do want to lick his– Scar! Stop laughing, you’ll ruin your salt.”

Scar manages to muffle himself down to stifled sniggers, with what looks like a Herculean effort of drunken willpower. “C’mon, Bdubs. Leave poor Grian alone. We can discuss him licking me when I don’t have salt, uh, perilously close to my delicate nipples.”

“How’re you managing pel– perir– pelirousy after nine cocktails?” demands Mumbo. “You can’t even bloody say that sober!”

He is, once again, ignored.

“I don’t want to discuss him licking you! I want him to not lick you! That’s not his job.” Bdubs sounds aggrieved. He does, however, obediently release the front of Grian’s jumper, stepping back to give the other man the stink eye. “He’s not Deputy Mayor, now, is he.”

Bdubs is, technically speaking, not Deputy Mayor either. It’s several months and an entire world since he was Deputy Mayor. But everyone present is aware that, for Bdubs at least, Deputy Mayor is less a job title and more an eternal-obsessive-crony-to-Mister-Scar-Goodtimes state of mind.

“Since when has licking the Mayor been part of the Deputy Mayor’s job?” asks Mumbo, of no one in particular, though he suspects the answer is since Bdubs got the job.

“I do not want to lick Scar,” says Grian, firmly. “I’d just, you know, prefer not to lick Mumbo’s chest hair. No offence, Mumbo.”

“Some taken, mate, I’m not gonna lie.”

Scar pouts. “You don’t want to lick my–?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and uh, sentient mosses,” says Impulse, returning with the shot glasses. Pearl has given up on proceedings entirely, sinking down to sit against one of the table legs and looking distinctly out of it. Not out of it enough, however, to have surrendered the prosecco bottle she has in a death-grip. “If we could maybe get back on track with the competition…?”

“How’re we scoring this?” asks Grian, because of course he does. Grian plays to win, after all.

“Uhhh.” Impulse, preoccupied with setting the slightly precarious shot glasses down on Mumbo and Scar’s belly without spilling them, flounders. “I was thinking maybe, like, speed, and style, and… Spanish-ness…?”

“Tequila’s from Mexico, idiot,” interjects Bdubs, helpfully.

“Mexican-ness, then.”

“None of us are from Mexico, though,” Grian points out. “Or Spain. Or anywhere in South America or Europe, actually.”

“Fine! Fine, speed and style, fine, can we just– god, I need a drink. Can we get this over with so I can get a drink?” Impulse’s voice has picked up the whining desperation of a man powerfully regretting several recent life choices.

“Yes,” agrees Bdubs, emphatically. “I would really like to get started, oh yes.” He’s looking at Scar, laid out on the table, as though he’s a slab of particularly well-cooked steak. Scar – somewhat worryingly – preens beneath his hungry gaze.

Mumbo’s relieved when Grian, deciding for reasons known only to himself to be reasonable for once in his life, tosses Impulse a casual salute by way of agreement.

“Alright.” Impulse inhales, and exhales, as though to centre himself. Or perhaps brace himself. Either way, it adds an unexpected gravity to the situation which Mumbo could really do without. Bad enough he’s shirtless on a table covered in salt, without it feeling like some big deal. “Ready, everyone? Right. Lime slices in your mouths, Scar and Mumbo. Bdubs and Grian– On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Grian goes for speed. He’s done the shot, licked the salt, and bitten the lime out of Mumbo’s mouth before Mumbo even really knows what’s happened. He’s kind of grateful for it, honestly – like ripping a bandaid off.

Bdubs, of course, goes for style.

The noise Scar makes as Bdubs drags a tongue up his belly is positively pornographic. Bdubs is flushed red-cheeked from the shot, and Scar is flushed red from a tongue dragged across sensitive skin and taut muscle. By the time Bdubs cranes his head up to take the lime from Scar’s mouth, it’s more of a lewd, open-mouthed kiss than anything else. It’s like watching a train wreck. None of them can look away.

“…Well.” Impulse clears his throat, awkwardly. His nose looks a little pink. Even odds on whether it’s from the alcohol, or the display he’s just witnessed. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna have to call that one for Scar and Bdubs, guys? Um.”

Scar whoops, gleeful. “Yes! Bdubs, it’s official. We’re the best.”

“I,” announces Bdubs, with the smug delight of a man who’s just licked a line of salt off of Scar Goodtimes’s abs and gotten an award about it, “am going to find us some more tequila. To celebrate.”

He’s gone before any of them have the time – let alone the inclination or recovered cognitive faculties – to point out that that’s probably a bad idea.

There’s a long moment of silence, as they all slowly come to terms with what they’ve just done.

“Oh, god,” says Grian, miserably, breaking the quiet. He sticks two fingers in his mouth, and comes back with something dark and wiry clutched between them. “I’ve got bloody– Mumbo hair, in my mouth–”

Mumbo is not looking at Grian. Mumbo is busy staring at Scar, still laid out across the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Yeah, well,” he says, “I think the rather more pressing issue is that Scar’s got–”

“Absolutely no need to comment on that,” says Scar, cheerfully, finally sitting up. There’s still a little salt clinging to his abs, shimmering and crystalline. It draws the eye to it, and then encourages the eye to move further down, to his happy trail, and then on to his– “Perfectly natural reaction to getting your stomach licked. You wouldn’t shame a man for his natural reactions, now, would you, Mumbo?”

Suddenly unable to make eye contact with Scar, Mumbo averts his gaze. As he does, he mutters something that sounds remarkably like, “Bloody well would.”

He is, once again, ignored.

Scar is saved from having to discuss the particulars of his natural reactions by a loud crash from the opposite side of the room. Grian, sensing trouble occurring that he’s not yet involved with, whips his head around with velociraptor-like enthusiasm and speed.

“Bdubs, please, I just really think you don’t need any more–”

“I won!” Bdubs is yelling, holding the bottle of half-full tequila above his head as high as he can – which, given his height, is not very. Somehow, despite being far taller and significantly more sober, Xisuma’s attempts at grabbing it are going exceedingly poorly indeed. “I won, I licked Mayor Scar so, so good and I won, which means I get to celebrate, okay? With tequila.”

“No– no, Bdubs, you– come on, please, that’s very– you know what you get like when you drink too much of that, please, I really don’t–”

“Let him drink!” yells Keralis, from the sidelines, with both his characteristic lasciviousness and the motivated enthusiasm of a man who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. “It’s a democracy, Shishwammy. Let Bubbles drink! Or at least let us vote on whether he can drink. I vote yes.”

If it goes to a vote, Mumbo knows, Xisuma will lose. Keralis is not the only person who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. Far from it, in fact.

“Bdubs–” wails Xisuma, now weeping openly. Bdubs is stanced for combat, knees bent and arms wide like a sumo wrestler, the neck of the tequila bottle gripped in one fist. His moss hoodie and undershirt, somewhere in the proceedings, have vanished from his body. A circle of interested Hermits, sensing the evening’s entertainment, is beginning to gather around the scene.

Scar, Grian, and Mumbo watch from the other side of the room in companionable silence for a long moment – soaking up the general chaos, and attempting to process what’s just happened, respectively.

Then Scar swings his legs off the table, and stands up, with an admirable amount of grace and balance for a man nine cocktails down and counting. It’s an ongoing, server-wide mystery that Scar somehow becomes more coordinated and better with his words when drunk, and it’s always struck Mumbo as deeply unfair. “…Do you think we should go help?” he asks, mildly, watching Xisuma make yet another failed grab for the tequila.

“Absolutely not,” says Mumbo, immediately and very firmly.

As he watches, Bdubs downs two large mouthfuls of the tequila without flinching, and manages to duck Xisuma’s lunge with the poise of a ballet dancer. Xisuma, regrettably helmetless, lunges head-first into a table full of bottles instead. The resulting crash shakes the floorboards. “I do not want to get mixed up in that, thank you.”

“I think we should go and make it worse, actually,” says Grian, brightly. He is, Mumbo notices, holding a prosecco bottle – prised from Pearl’s now-empty hands where she’s slumped half-snoring beneath the table. He takes a sip, directly from the bottle, and hums appreciatively.

“Why,” says Mumbo, weakly.

“‘Cos it’ll be funny. Duh.” Grian offers the bottle to Mumbo, and wrinkles his nose when Mumbo doesn’t take it.

“Excellent point, Grian.” Scar swipes the bottle instead, tilting it up and taking a hearty chug – because that’s the part of the evening they’ve gotten to, apparently. Chugging prosecco from a bottle. “See! This is why you’re the brains of the operation. However, consider– you could also go make out in the bathroom.”

“With who?”

Scar strikes a pose, arms out, abs flexed. “With me, of course!”

“Eww. No,” says Grian, as though he hasn’t made out with Scar at nine out of the last ten server parties. Mumbo should know. He’s been keeping track. For the Boatem Pool, of course. It’s important to have those kinds of numbers to crunch, when you’re trying to work out how and when your best friend and your other best friend are going to have sex for the first time. Which is, of course, a perfectly normal thing to be trying to work out, thank you very much.

“I just want you both know,” Mumbo interrupts, “that I want no part in this.”

Grian turns to look at him, and Mumbo quails beneath the intensity of the mischief in his gaze. “What,” he says, “not even the bathroom makeouts?” as though he hadn’t been objecting to said makeouts mere moments ago.

Mumbo is just a heartbeat too slow in his denial.

“Mumbo. Mumbo!” says Scar, brightly. He’s grinning at him, a salesman’s smile, a snake’s smile, all teeth and smirk. “If you want the rewards of bathroom makeouts, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of doing crimes with us! You should know that by now.”

“What does that mean?!” Mumbo’s beginning to wish he’d taken the prosecco when it was offered.

“It means you should come with me and we can both take our pants off in front of Xisuma,” whispers Scar, secretively. “As a distraction. So Grian can do crimes, while everyone’s distracted by our ahmayzin’, uhhh– underwear.”

Scar’s natural reaction, Mumbo cannot help but notice, has not quite subsided yet. And, despite his trousers sitting low on his hips, there’s not so much as hint of underwear peeking out above the waistband.

“Underwear,” Mumbo repeats, slowly. “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” says Grian, but Scar is already gone, sprinting towards the Hermits ringing Xisuma and Bdubs’ ongoing tequila battle. “No! Scar–! Keep your damn pants on!” And then he’s gone, too, chasing after Scar. Or the promise of chaos.

Or, more realistically, both.

In their aftermath, Mumbo sinks – miserable, shirtless, belly hair still faintly damp from being licked – to the floor. Consumed by his own bewilderment, it takes him a moment to realise there’s a hand on his head. Pearl, apparently awake again, is petting his hair gently.

“There, there, mate,” she says, sympathetically. Her eyes are bleary, but her hands are remarkably steady as she pulls a fresh bottle of prosecco from god-knows-where and uncorks it with her teeth in a manoeuvre that leaves Mumbo staring, impressed. “Prosecco?”

“…Yeah, actually,” says Mumbo, as the noises of tequila-based disaster from the other side of the room increase, abruptly, in volume. “Yeah. You know what? Why not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the chaos unfolding. Xisuma is on the floor, weeping. Bdubs is shirtless, teeth bared, wielding a now mostly-empty bottle of tequila. Scar is invisible through the throng of other hermits now watching, heckling, egging them on – but Grian is yelling, “Scar! Put your trousers back on!”, which gives them a pretty clear mental picture.

“They’re going to have sex in that bathroom, aren’t they?” says Mumbo, absently, after a while. The prosecco has settled, warm and fizzy, in bottom of his already thoroughly alcohol-lined stomach. A pair of trousers just flew out of the middle of the Hermit huddle, which is rapidly looking less like a circle and more like an active, good-natured brawl.

“Yeah. Probably.” Pearl pauses, thoughtfully, and makes grabby hands at the prosecco bottle. Mumbo obediently passes it over. “That is, if they don’t just give up and fuck right in the middle of the party.”

Mumbo ignores that last bit, because if he starts thinking about that then he’s a bit concerned he’s going to have a natural reaction of his own. Across the room, Bdubs has begun wailing in misery, in the way only Bdubs can. “I should probably be there,” he says. “If they are. For Boatem Pool purposes, you know?”

“Boatem Pool purposes,” repeats Pearl, solemnly. “Totally.”

She passes the prosecco back, and fist-bumps the bottle in solidarity when he takes it. And then they sit there, in silence, sharing the rest of the drink between them as the sounds of tequila-based disaster fill the rest of the room.

#scarian #mumscarian #scardubs #hermits crafting #fic #hermitfic #this is both absolutely absurd and possibly the best thing i've ever written #please read it please reblog it it's like several thousand words of complete crack and it''s so good

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dreamsurvivormultiplayer · 2 years

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i made the mistake of perceiving a hermitcraft homestuck au and as Someone Who Has Done Far Too Much Studying On Classpects I. Now feel. Like I Am Legally Obligated To Think About This. Anyone is welcome to throw in thoughts if ya have any.

Given 26 Hermits, normally that might be annoying to divvy up into 12 classes/aspects (if we wanna be shitposty, technically 17 classes and 13 aspects) BUT we can double up the main 12 and then throw the extra two as Muse/Lord Time/Space which is quite fun actually. Also perfect number for an equal split lunar sway, but that’s for a different post.

I’m just gonna go right ahead and throw Xisuma intooo im thinking Muse of Time? cause yknow, Server Admin. That feels right. Influencing/inspiring the timeline/end from a distance for the benefit of others. But. on the other hand. XisumaVoid... Technically there's nothing stopping us from making him a Muse of Void, which still fits the Server Admin themes (except this time now more aspects of creating a world from nothing/protecting that world by obscuring it/wiping it for resets). Also if the Muse/Lord duo aren’t Time/Space aspects that could play into them having a broken session which fits Season 8′s plot pretty well.

Opposing that, I’m kinda tempted for Doc as Lord of Space? Mostly for shadow items n stuff - Manipulation of space/material existence/physicality for benefit of self. Or Lord of Light (manipulation of knowledge/chance/observation/etc) which does still fit with the game-breaking themes.

Grian i’m debating a class for (hesitantly settling on Maid, Mage, Bard, Prince, or Thief - Mage/Maid for more Watcher!Grian vibes, everything else following his semi-destructive/chaos streak, and an argument could probably be made either way for benefit of others/self). Aspect though, my gut feeling is Time or maaaaaybe Heart (for splinter-selves)? I’m admittedly liking Time much better because of the destructive associations with it, inherent chaos, and timelines/multiple selves stuff which is far more subdued in Heart. Heart is a lot more following. yknow. your heart. and prioritizing that over Mind/”rational” thought (alongside misc soul stuffs). Maid of Time for him is very tempting. I Would Like To See Grian Hit A Timeline With A Broom.

I don’t have much thought out for the other Hermits (mostly either an aspect or a class) but here’s some misc ideas: (note - the pair of class & aspect is v important because it dramatically changes how the god tier functions so basically any of these are subject to change)

Scar I’m thinking either Prince or Page? Not sure aspect. I’m leaning more towards Page but Scar with a destructive class sounds very fun. Also, bonus, both those god tier outfits are dorky as hell but I think he’d vibe with that.

Zedaph - Almost definitely an active class, unless we’re going the route of a classpect that opposes/challenges that. Aspect... hmm... Light? Maaybe Mind? I’m feeling a lean towards Light particularly with the s9 daredevil route.

Gem’s giving me Hope or Heart vibes? Not sure on class. I almost wanna say Rogue? But I’m always hesitant to have too many canon god tiers. Maybe Seer? Gem as a Seer sounds kinda fun.

Joe maybe Life? Maayyyybe Sylph...???

Cleo im thinking maybe Witch? Or maybe even Bard? with Witch they’d be an active class & have manipulation over their aspect which is fun, though the focus is use of aspect for benefit of self which i’m more ? on for them. Bard would be benefit of others and also a destructive class which is very fun for her. Not sure on Aspect though which would definitely change things up dramatically. Especially given the gorgon s9 theme I really wanna incorporate her statues stuff. Best I can think of for that would prob be Light/Void or Space?

Mumbo’s got me very stumped, but maybe Heir? For the transformative/”becoming” aspect thing. Sounds like it’d be something fun to mess with for him (espc given his s8 themes).

I feel like im legally required to make Wels a Knight.

Anyways enjoy this half-sensical babble.

#hermitcraft #homestuck #hermitcraft spoilers #long post //#deep sigh. dormant hyperfixation unlocked.#yes i know far too much about the complexities of classpects #feel free to ask about it i like discussing classpects lots #also im totally gonna draw maid of time Grian later #re: lunar sways im making an executive decision that the boatem hole = horrorterrors #and at least Scar and Grian are Derse Dreamers #prob Pearl too #Mumbo and Impulse i think you could make arguments either way #Impulse i think im mostly getting caught up on him already having a gold color scheme #i typed up most of this at like 6am so if anything is totally incomprehensible blame that #or the fact that it's homestuck and homestuck is inherently totally incomprehensible #I was also looping Temporal Shenanigans which probably did not help the comprehensability #wow that sure was A Word i just tried to say #Hermit Classpects

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haworthiaace · 3 years

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Magic misfits! Did I update the masterpost specifically because of this fic? yes absolutely. A busy day for Scar, featuring TFC and some good ol’ Scar appreciation :]

The start of a new season was always interesting.

While TFC didn’t enjoy having to start from scratch every year or so; having gotten used to the comforts of late season riches, he did love the sheer amount of interaction that came with a new season. TFC was content to hear gossip about the others’ shenanigans while he stuck to what he was best at: mining. Some of the others called it cheating to use his earthbending down in the tunnels, but he called it cheating to be able to shapeshift, or use magic crystals, or any of the other crazy things the other hermits could do, so it evened out.

When he wasn’t down in his mine, TFC watched as all the other hermits scrambled to make the most impressive buildings and contraptions in as little time as possible. Many of his servermates placed more importance on finishing their creations than actually gathering necessities such as tools and armour.

As if to prove this observation, the Boatem village appeared on the other side of the nether portal, populated with structures that were much too large considering it had only been three weeks since they arrived in this world. There was also a… tree? At least that’s what it looked like; a thin oak tree stretching up past the clouds and out of view. Looks like Mumbo and Grian were up to no good already.

“TFC! Up here!” Scar’s voice came from somewhere above TFC’s head, and he looked up to see the wizard (although he no longer wore his robe and hat) standing on a balcony extending from a truly massive wagon, one hand on the railing and the other extended above his head, waving enthusiastically at TFC.

He climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon, entering a sparse storage room. Knowing Scar, he either hadn’t bothered to move in yet or lost all of his things in a cave somewhere. Despite his powerful crystal magic, Scar still managed to die more than any other hermit, so the second option was more likely.

“Well hello there! Welcome to my humble abode, please take a seat.” Scar led TFC to a balcony, where he gestured towards a table and two folding chairs. Scar sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in his lap. “So, what brings you to our little village today?”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the question, confusion evident in his voice. “Because you invited me? We were supposed to have tea today.”

Scar jolted in his seat, then proceeded to scramble out of said seat. “I’ll be right back! I have to go… feed Jellie!” This was quite obviously a lie seeing as Jellie hadn’t returned from her between seasons interdimensional travels yet. TFC’s laughter chased Scar into the wagon, where he frantically prepared the tea that he was totally planning on making because he definitely remembered his plans for the day.

After about five minutes of mildly concerning crashing sounds, Scar returned with two steaming mugs of tea (decorated with cat faces, of course) and a plate of chocolate chip cookies - Stress’ recipe if TFC wasn’t mistaken. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the tea and cookies.

“So, how are you holding up this season, Scar?” TFC took a sip of green tea, looking out at the horizon.

“Oh you know, the usual. I don’t have my village anymore, but the magical misfits still come seeking my help.” He brought a cookie to his mouth and bit off half of it. “Not that I mind helping people!” He swallowed his mouthful before continuing. “XB was here last week convinced that he left his coat in season seven, but turns out it just ended up in one of Joe’s boxes.” He chuckled to himself, wiping crumbs off of his jacket as TFC stared at the distant ocean, lost in thought.

TFC broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re a good man, y’know that?” The wizard in question looked at TFC in surprise. He was used to ‘thank you’s, but the personal compliment caught him off guard. “You’ve created a safe space for folks from all sorts of places, and you’ve saved quite a few of them from bad people.”

Scar looked down, smiling at his cup of tea. He spoke quietly, a departure from his usual boisterousness. “Thanks TFC, that means a lot.”

Scar was in the middle of catching TFC up on what he missed from day one when something red and very fast crashed into the balcony. The something in question turned out to be Grian, shimmering wings protruding from his back. Something must have been wrong, since winged hermits tended to refrain from flying early in the season, in the name of fairness.

“Scar we need your- Oh heeey, I didn’t know you had company over!” He leaned on the railing, his urgency replaced with a forced cheerfulness as he (quite obviously) pretended nothing was wrong. What was probably supposed to be an easygoing smile stretched too wide, and his voice was more high pitched than usual. “How’s it goin’?”

Scar, completely oblivious, responded excitedly. “Oh, I was just telling TFC here about our adventure in the geode with Cleo!”

Grian’s uncomfortable smile grew wider, and his eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds great, do you think you’ll be done anytime soon?”

“Oh well, I’m not too sure. It depends on when we finish all of these cookies.”

“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Grian’s wings started to twitch behind him, “did you make those yourself?”

Scar took a breath, preparing for a tangent when TFC cut in, showing the poor fairy some mercy. “Alright Grian, out with it. What’s wrong?” Scar stared at Grian, somehow surprised that this wasn’t a completely ordinary visit.

Grian let out a long sigh. “Thank you so much TFC.” He turned his gaze to Scar. “We need a little help with curse breaking.”

Scar set down his mug and gave Grian his full attention, preparing himself for whatever strange curse one of the fairies had set on some poor hermit. “Really? How are you two cursing people already? It hasn’t even been a month!”

Grian’s tangent was accompanied by wild hand gestures that made it difficult to follow what he was saying. “Well, Pearl came up behind Mumbo and spooked him, he shouted something about not sneaking up on him, and now whenever he turns his back on her she teleports directly in front of him.” Grian looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of Mumbo’s van. TFC followed his gaze, and burst into laughter again.

Mumbo was standing a few feet away from his campfire, spinning in circles and doubling over in laughter as Pearl kept popping up in front of him.

Scar pushed himself up from his chair, TFC followed suit. The pair headed to the door while Grian flew back down, Scar giving TFC a sort of briefing. “Alright, let’s go figure out what exactly Mumbo did before Pearl starts feeling particularly vengeful.”

It took two hours and a lot of trial and error (with TFC giving supremely unhelpful tips), but eventually Pearl could stand behind Mumbo again. At some point Scar accidentally applied the effect to both Grian and Mumbo, and he had to beg the two not to create a space time anomaly. But it was all fixed now, and TFC was sure Pearl’s revenge would be swift and cruel.

Scar made his way back up to the balcony, and the two continued their conversation. It was a good thing Scar had enchanted his mugs, something he had done back in season seven after his drinks kept getting abandoned and going cold.

After a few hours of peace (other than both Mumbo and Grian’s bases abruptly flipping upside down while the boys were inside), the pair was interrupted again by a voice behind them.

“Howdy, Scar. Oh, and howdy to you as well, TFC!”

Neither of them had heard Joe coming, so Scar jumped about a foot in the air while TFC nearly spat out his tea. It turned out that Cleo was there as well, looking quite a bit angrier than Joe, although that wasn’t too uncommon.

“Oh my goodness, Joe you scared the life out of me!” Scar held a hand to his chest and caught his breath as Cleo got right to business.

“Sorry about that Scar,” her voice was flat, and it was safe to assume that she was not, in fact, sorry about that. “But we have an emergency. It’s completely Joe’s fault, he-”

Joe smoothly stepped in front of his companion as he cut her off, “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely my fault, old magic is a fickle thing-”

Cleo shoved Joe aside, stepping in front once again. “He revived my leg!” She raised a foot off the ground and gestured at it with both hands.

Sure enough, both TFC and Scar looked down to see that Cleo’s right leg was significantly more flesh-coloured than the left, restored to what it presumably once was.

Scar’s lingering panic was instantly replaced by an amused grin as he gestured to the leg in question. “Cleo, why don’t you just get your leg reinfected? It’s not like zombies are hard to come by.”

The pair stood still, just blinking. (Completely in sync, it was eerie)

Cleo rounded on Joe and punched at his shoulder just as he raised a hand to deflect her fist. “How did you not think of that Joe?! I thought you knew everything there was to know about-” She gestured wildly about for a moment. “Everything?!”

“Shouldn’t you be some sort of zombie expert by now? How is that my responsibility?” The argument continued as the pair went back into the wagon and down the ladder. As they walked off, presumably to go find a cave, something occurred to TFC. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell down at them.

“Cleo!” She turned around. “Don’t use Joe as bait!”

She snapped her finger like a defeated cartoon villain, as Joe turned to face her and presumably gave her grief for this evil plot.

It was only about five minutes after Cleo and Joe left (preceded by twenty minutes of arguing) that the next problem arrived, as it often did, in the form of Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arriving on the shore of the village. TFC found this odd, seeing as how everyone was now connected by nether portals, but he assumed there would be an explanation shortly, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.

Impulse shouted up from the ground, the three of them clustered near the front of the wagon. “TFC, we need your help!” Well that was a surprise, not many people asked for his assistance other than Scar. “We made an oopsie and Cleo said we could find you here!”

As every hermit knew, ‘oopsie’ was a versatile word with these three. It could mean anything between making a minor mistake in a build to banishing Impulse for the fifth time. “What happened this time?” TFC stood up and made his way down the ladder, since shouting down at them wasn’t very efficient and they didn’t seem inclined to come up.

Impulse started twisting his hands together while Zedaph and Tango tried their best to look innocent behind him. It didn’t work. “Weeell, Tango wanted a terraforming job done around his base, so we made a little deal for it.”

Oh boy. Not much good came out of magical deals, yet the other hermits continued to make them with each other. Demonic deals were especially tricky since the demon didn’t have precise control over their end of the deal, not that it stopped these three. “Tango offered me his first beacon in exchange for the job, and it turns out that a beacon is worth a lot more than I thought- it’s probably easier if we show you.”

“Quick FYI guys: firsts are very valuable in deals! It applies to you as well Impulse, not just the fae!” Scar called helpfully from his still seated position on the balcony.

They all ended up going over to Tango’s house/ shop, which was literally buried in a mound of dirt and stone, along with about three quarters of Bdubs’ giant moon house. That explains why they didn’t use the nether.

The earth was offended after being touched by demonic magic, but after a long negotiation TFC managed to convince it that Impulse meant no harm, and it was happy to return to its prior state. Tango was mildly annoyed that he would have to do the terraforming himself and give Impulse a beacon, but it was better than the wrath he would have faced from Bdubs.

By the time TFC and Scar returned to the Boatem village, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. While TFC admired the beauty of it, Scar just looked disappointed.

“I’m sorry.”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the wizard, a frown making its way onto his face. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Did you do something to the tea?”

Despite TFC’s attempted joke, Scar still stared at his perfectly polished shoes. “This was supposed to be a nice relaxing day to catch up, and people were just showing up left and right. I mean, we hardly got to spend any time together! Maybe I shouldn’t invite people over with all this wizard stuff going on.”

“But we did spend time together.” TFC’s rough hand landed on Scar’s shoulder, the latter looking up at the former, startled by the contact.

“Well yeah we had tea for a while but-”

TFC had to cut off Scar’s rambling or he would never get to his point. “Yes we had tea, but I’m talking about the rest of the day.” Scar seemed genuinely confused at this. “I helped you un-curse Pearl,” he did air quotes on the word ‘helped,’ “We watched Joe and Cleo argue together, and you came with us to fix Tango’s house.” Of course he didn’t do much other than laugh at Tango’s misfortune, but it was the thought that counted. “Just ‘cause it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good time.” After all, not much went according to plan on the hermitcraft server.

Now Scar was smiling. “So I didn’t ruin the day with magical misfits?”

“Not at all.” TFC reached for his mug and emptied it one last time, then stretched before heading out. “But now I gotta get going. I don’t like my chances against the mobs with my crappy iron gear.”

Scar waved once more as TFC disappeared into the nether portal. “Goodnight TFC! And thanks again, for everything!”

TFC smiled as he made his way through the nether tunnels back home. Scar did a lot more for the hermits than he realized, allowing them to be free with their magic in a way they couldn’t back home, TFC included. He’d created a home for all sorts of ‘magic misfits’ as Scar put it, and he performed an invaluable service, whether he realized it or not.

He’s a good kid. Just needs some reminding every once in a while.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft 8 #magic misfits au #tinfoilchef #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #pearlescentmoon #joe hills #zombiecleo #tangotek #impulsesv #zedaph #im not too confident on the Emotional bits but #practice makes perfect i suppose #theres a few things i implied here so feel free to ask and clear things up

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years

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Zombie Apocalypse AU Masterpost 2 Electric Boogaloo

Previous Post: https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618314308275863552/zombie-apocalypse-au-masterpost

-Bdubs is slowly going feral because he has the virus, it just doesn't show itself physically.

-Cub was tempted to purposefully get the virus to try and help find a cure, (they probably don't have lab rats given the circumstances,) by Scar talked him out of it.

-The timeline of events with DocM is that he started in the NHO group, they ended up dispersing (Etho turned and then left to ensure the safety of his friends, Beef ended up going separate due to Doc and Bdubs' constant fighting and Bdubs stormed off after an argument.) He ends up getting taken in by TFC, (he's the first to arrive,) and eventually captures Rendog.

-Stressmonster and Iskall originally lived in a cabin in the mountains. After Iskall got swept away in a snow storm and Joe and Cleo stopped by, Stress had no idea there was a Zombie outbreak.

-Hypnotizd and XB ended up trespassing in Jevin's property and Jevin shot Hypno. XB pleaded to Jevin that they weren't zombies and to not hurt them further and Jevin begrudgingly went, 'okay, fine. You aren't taking my food though.'

-Impulse's weapon of choice was a shovel.

-Grian can't fly in this AU. Let's be real, if he could, it would be pretty OP.

-Keralis most definetly gave a larger share of his rations to Xisuma while he was sick.

-TangoTek entirely blames himself for Impulse leaving and Zedaph getting bit. He feels especially conflicted because he wants to leave because he's convinced they both hate him and blame him but he can't because 'what if they go looking for him?' 'What if someone worse comes from that?'

-The location of Etho's bite is right on the front of the neck. He actually passed out from blood loss initially and he very nearly died. (Luckily for him the zombie didn't pull away, ripping out anything important (like a windpipe of an oesophagus,) giving Doc time to carefully unhinge the zombie's jaw and save Etho.) Nobody was quite sure how Etho was even alive with a big chunk out of his neck until he started displaying some strange behaviour.

-False is usually the one who stays up late to stand guard and protect her group.

-Mumbo accidentally caught Hypno in one of his traps at one point but let him go.

-Hay here’s a dumb idea, The reason ren is immune to the zombie virus is because he has like an anti-zombie virus in his body it behaves just like a normal zombie virus but it doesn’t turn you into a zombie, so how the hermits turn the zombie hermits human again is by making ren bite them.

-I have an angst ending and a no-angst ending so first here's the not-angst one: Doc and Ren team up with Cub and Scar to make a cure (so Ren doesn't have to bite everyone personally). They travel around finding every bitten survivor and salvageable zombie they can, using the weapons and resources from the NHO for protection. They find ways of producing and distributing enough cure for everyone, and during that process all of the Hermits decide to stay friends and in touch afterward.

-For the Zombie AU, if Scar doesn't already have like a different role in this au, he could've possibly been the first human infected because *someone's* pet cat ate a weird looking mouse and bit their owner.

-This is very angsty and gory, so fair warning: How fast does the virus spread through the body from the bite? If slow, you can cut the bitten part off before it spreads out through the body. To doc having a robot arm, what if he got bit and out of fear, they amputated his arm to stop the spread. I know y'all probably don't wanna go with body horror, but that's something to consider in this AU.

-Lowkey I feel zombie Etho doesnt do justice to his epic PVP skillz, but!! I do see Etho to be something SIMILAR to it! Idk if you've ever played Telltale's The Walking Dead game, but Etho could a zombie whisperer, a human who wears zombie skin and lives amongst the zombies for protection. So when Etho got bit, they THOUGHt he turned but actually just decided, hey I live here now and just vibin.

-You know how ren being a werewolf is popular in the fandom(from what I've seen) maybe that's why is immune to being a zombie and getting bitten by him if your infected cures it because the zombie infection and werewolf infection cancel eachother out.

-A more jokey Zombie!Au thing: The first episode of Llamas with hats but it's Zombie!Etho and Beef.

-I feel like if Wels could get to some of his friends he would try his hardest to protect them and if he ever managed to get bit it would be to save someone else.

-There is just always so much angst potential in any scenario or AU where it involves the possibility of Wels sacrificing himself in some way to protect his friends from something poor bb 😔

-Would infected hermits be able to like recognize people after the infection zombified them or whatever it is? Because if so oh my god imagine the angst.

(All those above in red are from our community's lovely anons!)

-About the anti-zombie Ren bite thing: Doc has the idea suddenly in the middle of an argument so the conversation goes a little like this:

Ren: "So what I'm trying to say, my dude, is that would never work because -"

Doc: "Ren. Bite me."

Ren: "Oh yeah, real mature way to end a disagreement there -"

Doc: *facepalming* "No, Ren, I mean actually.... Just do it, I'll explain later."

-Angst ending: They could never produce enough cure to stem the tide of undeath. They all choose to band together and take shelter underground, hoping to wait it out. They use X's tunnel, but that many people that close together smells irresistible to a horde. The zombies flood after them into the tunnel. X says he'll buy them some time, even though he is terrified. He collapses the tunnel on himself and the zombies so the others can escape. His last thought: At least I get to die as myself.

-Thinking about Etho's bite location (you said it was on his neck): Most bites are on the shoulder or leg (bit from behind while running away) or on the arm (bit while raised to defend). To be bitten on the neck he would have to have his arms and shoulders lowered. Etho, being a good fighter, would have only done this if it was absolutely necessary. Conclusion: he was bitten with his arms stretched out to protect someone behind him, and he knew the consequence that his choice would have.

-(@shadeswiftdraws.)

-The NHO are all strangely dressed (Etho is kakashi, Doc is green, Bdubs has a bandana,) because they were all at a cosplay convention. (-@tomcatacaphe.)

-When Etho left The nHo, he brings a Journal with him. Every Night he'll write a Journal entry. He'll write just about anything, there even some random lyrics and some pretty flowers he pick up along his travels. But as the Journal goes on, the words slowly became wobbly. Inconsistent. until finally, Unreadable chicken skrach. His final (at least readable) entry is: "-I hoPE yoU GUyZ ArE DoInG bETThEr ThAn I Am" As some point in time, Etho lost his Journal and Joe hills found it.

-Speaking of Joe Hill, he made it his personal mission to collect every literature and entertament media he can possibly carry on him. From Dnd Book, poetry, Documentary DVD's, to random journal He think would be usefull. Stress is happy to help Joe but Cleo is a little annoyed because it's will only slow them down, but Joe Argued that "If there's no knowledge left, then what will the future be? Just staying alive and surviving?" Cleo begrudgingly agrees.

-I can totally see Joe and Cleo Rocking an actual Sword and Dnd Cosplay (Joe got is a gift while Cleo Commissions her's after seeing Joe whip out his sword one time in a one shot DnD session) they keep the swords, but they ditch the Costume pretty early on tho.

-Mumbo's next Job Interview would be schedule at Concorp. But then the Zombie apocalypse happened on his way there.

(-@tearosepedall.)

-I don’t want this au to end but here’s my take: most of them get to the bunker where they don’t develop a cure, but do create a vaccine. Occasionally they will venture out to hand out the vaccine to survivors. Still, they all decide to stay into stay together. But because they were unable to develop a cure, even though they really try, there are some how have been lost such as etho, zed, and mumbo. Still the rest of them morn and try their best to survive without modern society. (-@lookitsspacekween.)

https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618587883366957056/tw-very-brief-mention-of-vomit-general-warnings (-@carpe-shovelem.)

-Funny/happy ending to the Zombie AU: The hermits set up a zombie funneling system where the ones that didn't die from infection get bit by Ren to get turned back and they return the dead and give them proper burials. (-@my-cat-is-a-bastard.)

-I just remembered the thought post with Tuartis sleeping through things, Bdubs sleeping through the apocalypse, but now we've got Wels on the sleep team too! Wonder if he'd have slept through the apocalypse as well... (-@853dragons.)

TW: Mentions of dead animals:

I've got one last bit for the zombie au, it ties into my parasite one: With the rumors that the outbreak started in the Convex cancer research facility, and Scar feeling guilt because he Should Have Been Able To Stop This... It really was their fault. As a company. It wasn't intentional, of course, but Convex created the parasite. It was during research into a cure for certain conditions that are notoriously risky/impossible to perform surgery on, like brain tumors or lukemia-type cancer. The hope was to utilize the parasites as something that could harmlessly go in, eat or destroy all the cancerous cells, then die off, leaving a perfectly healthy human. The research project was abandoned after a several years, when every single attempt ended with either dead or, in later years, extremely sickly rats. Although the final round seemed promising, the rats weren't showing obvious signs of a decline in health after two weeks, Convex was convinced to just give it up and that the utilization of parasitic worms was asking for more trouble than it was worth. Plus, PETA was getting dangerous with their choices in protest against the tests, which was the main reason it was called off. Cub and the board of directors didn't want to risk bodily harm to their researchers, and it truly was getting so beyond ridiculous that a few bodyguards weren't enough protection.

Some researchers took some of the test rats home as pets, including our Patient Zero, because they really were quite cute. Patient Zero got bit by his rat, and nobody really thought anything of it for a couple weeks until his behavior took a bad turn. He was picking fights and throwing verbal abuse, and no amount of warnings and write-ups were giving any hint of stopping him. It all finally resulted in him viciously biting fellow labworkers, which sent two of them and himself to the ER. Upon arrival he had to be restrained and isolated lest he bite more people. He was fired from the company, his bodyguards pulled, but Scar had been friends and continued to visit him regularly, wondering where the change had come from, and saddened by his old friend's obvious decline in health. Nurses told him he was refusing to eat or drink, and too violent to reason with nor release to anywhere but the police or psychiatric hospital. Soon, there were more reports of uncharacteristicly aggressive actions from PZ's victims. And from there.... Well, it's your choice where the story goes, but it didn't take long for Scar to put the puzzle together.

-(@basaltdragon.)

More to be added!

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lyraeon · 5 years

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Alright yeah we doin this

An incomplete list of current headcanons for Homestuck Classpects of Hermits (a work in progress)

(Updated on Feb 9 after the war's end made me realize a few things)

Joe has been throwing around big Rogue energy the last few weeks. Living in other people’s bases/borrowed spaces around the server, weaponizing stuff that’s frankly not weaponry, casually trying to bend the rules to pass over the moat, sneaking fans onto the server, creating a diss track in a matter of hours and “including” his teammates into it... all from a pacifist standpoint, mind you. I’m currently saying Rogue of Space. Edit: No no no I'm a goddamn fool. Wow. Joe is a Heart player. So I'm going with Rogue of Heart, though this revelation also has me reevaluating the Rogue part a little.

Doc has long obviously been a Doom player - the rules are his plaything. I’m going with Thief of Doom specifically. He has duplicated countless items over the seasons, he will manipulate the truth for his own purposes, and honestly just? Oh we’re gonna casually make a precision creeper cannon, oh and btw we’re gonna shoot ourselves in on llamas while we’re at it.

Grian I haven’t been watching for anywhere near as long so I’m having a hard time pinning down his class (my instincts say Heir, but he’s so ready to cause chaos I can see Bard or Prince), but his aspect for me comes down to Breath or Hope. He got almost the entire rest of the server to play along on three of his games by now simply by saying okay these are happening everyone :D c’mon let’s goooo! For being the diving force behind most the season right now, I dub him an Heir of Hope.

Tango is a Light player - his luck is too extraordinary (how many times has he said “I could use __” and gotten it?), he knows too much, he is happy to use that information for crazy shit. Plus last season he put a giant nether base into the overworld and this season he’s holding up a lake with a force field. I’d previously written him down as Prince of Light, but he’s softened out so other arguments could be made.

Xisuma is a Mage, keeping things organized and level. I had him down as a Space player when I made my original list last season, but part of that was a joke about his volcano. Having multiple “hims” all logged in on the LPMT server to AFK for different things and keep things in line felt more Time player though, and he isn’t someone I’d consider myself an “expert” on, so I’ll write him as “Mage of Time” with a large-ish question mark beside it.

I’ve always enjoyed the joke of Life player Cleo - after all, she’s a zombie! But this season she’s brought in the armor stands, which have a life of their own... Plus she was very, very, very determined to win that Phantom hunt. Between those, and a bit of bias via her long-running Sims series, as of right now I have her as a Witch of Life.

Cub as Lord of Void and Scar as Muse of Breath. I know, I know, pulling out Lord and Muse are fighting words, but explain to me how the heck else they get as much done as they do. Was particularly motivated by last season - Cub creating the Cub Hub, Scar managing 18,000 miles flown, and the sheer scale of their projects. Cub basically magics things into existence (or out of existence - the absurd win on the Phantom Hunt, getting bored and just finishing digging the nether hub), while Scar is the root of all inspiration on that server and so beloved his cat’s now in the game. Doubles as fun because Void and Breath fit Vex Magic both thematically and color-wise.

Rendog is a Page. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, he just is, you know it in your souls, and you know he would be proud of the dang outfit. I unfortunately don’t quite know what kind of Page though - currently my notes say Page of Heart.

Zedaph is a Bard of Life. I thought Page for him initially, too Wormman jokes but the man has to find the most difficult way to do everything and thrives on bases that blend into their surroundings. Also at one point he killed himself repeatedly to opera music just to troll people, so...

Stress’s is already suggested by her name - she’s a Maid of Rage. It makes more sense when you remember Rage is about emotions in general, rather than just actual rage, and see that her content, more than anyone else’s, feels ruled by her emotions in both release schedule and actual content. All of her singing, all of her typing out her accent, all of her actually expressing her frustrations but treating them as just part of life, all fit with that.

From here we start getting into people I’m only clear enough on to have one or the other written down for:

False is a Knight. She has a strong sense of duty and of preserving her self-image. She also can fight like nobody’s business.

Mumbo is a Time player. I thought Space at first as a joke about all his storage systems, but I’ve started to see those as a tool to balance how organized (and scant) his time is. More than any other hermit, he is a creature of habit/routine.

Impulse, as the other ideas guy, feels to me like a Mind player.

I think of Iskall as a Seer, but that may just be because of the imagery of his diamond eye.

Bdubs isn’t really around anymore, but while he was I had him down as a Blood player for his role within the NHO.

Everyone else I either can’t get a good enough read on despite watching them, or don’t watch enough of their content, to really pin anything down. Is Wels actually a Knight? I just don’t know, but I feel like no. Is anyone on this server a Sylph? Who the hell is the Space player so we can finally get a successful session? I just don't know!

But of course all of these are just my thoughts/headcanons, based on my observations and brief talk with a couple friends about it, so they are completely open to debate/interpretation/argument/expansion.

(Please debate me. I am that kind of person. I want to think more about these!)

#hermitcraft #homestuck #hermitstuck #just cuz that tag was probably inevitable on at least my blog by now #i feel very strongly about my convex headcanons but will also accept them as a time and space pair #those two are the only ones who function so much as a unit though that they're the only ones i'm concerned about having 'match'#[s]moirails4lyft[/s]#anything else except maybe knight!false i'm not that invested in #shoutout to joe for dredging this part of my soul back out of the depths by building to build limit and giving me sburb vibes #also for being the only person i've ever heard used 'obfuscate' and been willing to accept afterwards might not be a homestuck #anyway yeah this stuff's been sitting in assorted posts on my blog since last season #back when there was no fandom presence on the hellsite #so have my pile of ideas oh dear mineblr #lyra watches youtube #lyra plays minecraft #just for my own archiving purposes #hc

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