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housethemd · 3 months

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Come in from the Cold

House/Wilson established relationship

Written based on a prompt from @griffin-11

This wasn’t what I was expecting to write when I got the prompt, but it’s what happened!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bite of early January always sinks into his bones in a way he can’t shake. The trip from the car to the apartment takes twice as long as it does in other seasons, lest he slip on the icy ground. No amount of complaints to the building’s management about the state of the steps in the wintertime have any effect. They insist the stairs are perfectly passable, which may be true for the even footed but are treacherous to his uneven gait.

Snowflakes flutter to the ground, fluffy and large, adding the existing two feet of snow already on the ground. For a moment he remembers winters from a decade ago. When weather such as this would mean a trip to upstate New York, to a ski resort where he and Wilson would spend weekends on the slopes. Wilson skied, but he always prefered snowboarding. He liked the speed, the balance it required, the feeling of the wind burning his cheeks as he hurdled towards the bottom of the hill, the satisfaction he got from safely reaching the bottom of the difficult hills, having dodged trees and other obstacles the whole way down. But those days are long behind him now, and the memory stings almost as much as the cold.

Every second spent outside is painful, as even his long wool coat can’t protect the crater in his thigh from the sub-zero temperatures. A mess of missing muscle and over sensitive nerve endings, the cold burns bright hot. He limps heavily up the few stairs into the building, doing his best to strike a balance between speed, safety, and keeping pain to a minimum. When he finally breaches the threshold into 221 Baker Street he lets the door fall shut behind him, and leans on it heavily.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He grips his thigh tightly, desperately trying to rub the stiff burning from what remains of his leg, as the mantra plays in his mind. Wilson always tried to get him to breathe through the pain. He always argued that it was new age bull crap, right up there with auras and chakras. Breathing wouldn’t regrow this missing muscle, breathing wouldn’t fix the damaged nerves, and breathing certainly wouldn’t get rid of the mangled mess of partially numb, partially hypersensitive scar tissue that marred his right thigh. Still, he tries. Wilson doesn’t know he tries when Wilson isn’t around, and he always gripes when Wilson makes him try, but he tries all the same because that’s what people in relationships do. They try.

When the breathing mumbo jumbo doesn’t work he reaches into his pocket to pull out his Vicodin bottle and dry swallow two of the white, chalky tablets. The bitter taste promises some relief, though he knows it will only do so much. His leg will take hours to warm up, and only then will the pain reduce to its usual daily level. He really hates Winter.

Sucking a breath through his teeth he limps slowly towards his door, pausing to pull out his keys he can hear the puttering sounds of Wilson moving about their now shared apartment. He was unsure about Wilson moving in, his one and only stint with cohabitation had been with Stacy, but had since found it was not completely terrible. It was nice not being alone all the time, and Wilson was probably the only person in the world he could stand to have around all the time, though he’d never say that out loud.

When he enters the apartment Wilson pops out from the kitchen, smiling fondly.

“Oh wipe that look off your face. You saw me three hours ago.” He scoffs, shucking his coat and letting it fall to the ground.

The apartment smells like Wilson’s cooking. The living room is tidy in a lived-in sort of way. Wilson is dressed in sweats and his McGil sweatshirt, but is barefoot. The entire scene is so warm and domestic it warms his heart and makes him nauseous in equal measure.

“What? A guy can’t look happy when a handsome man walks into his home?” Wilson asks, arms crossed.

“Sure he can. He just can’t look happy when an old, misanthropic, cripple walks into his home.” He shoots back.

“Oh right. I always confuse those two.” Wilson smiles, leaning on the door jam and throwing the dish towel he had been holding over his shoulder.

House managed to remove his shoe from his right foot, but as he shifts his weight onto his right leg and cane to remove his left he has to stop, a pained noise slipping unbidden past his lips as pain shoots through him. Wilson is beside him in an instant, one hand on his back and the other on his chest, ready to support his weight should he need it.

“Hey hey hey, what’s going on?” Wilson asked gently.

“Stupid cold weather. Cripples don’t do well in the cold.” He grumbled, not meeting Wilson’s eyes.

“Alright well let’s get you off your feet. You're inside now, so the pain should lessen up soon, yeah?” Wilson tried to encourage.

Wilson knew the cold bothered him, but House had never really been clear to what extent. He weighed his options now, agreeing that he would soon feel better and spend the rest of the evening trying to hide his pain or admitting that the cold made things worse than he’d let on. On the one hand he could keep a little bit of his dignity, but would likely end the evening fighting with Wilson over something stupid. On the other hand Wilson would enter full caring mode, and spend the evening doting on him, and that always gave him a weird feeling in the bit of his stomach.

“It… takes a while for my leg to warm up. Damaged blood vessels and nerves. I thought you were a doctor? Just, let me go to bed.” He grumbled, staring at the floor.

“Wouldn’t a hot bath help? Or at least a heating pad?” Wilson reached out to rub circles on his shoulder.

“No. Too much heat at once makes it worse, just let me go to bed, dammit!” He snapped, and it seemed that his honesty still resulted in a stupid fight.

Wilson said nothing, but supported his weight from the door to the bedroom. As soon as House was seated on the bed he turned and left. With a deep sigh House stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the blankets. He winced when he swung his right leg onto the mattress, pain shooting down into the rest of his leg. He closed his eyes, naming infectious diseases in alphabetical order in an attempt to distract himself to sleep. His leg was killing him and he had a pissed off boyfriend in the other room, sleep was truly his best option at this point.

He’s just starting to get through the B’s when the bed dips behind him.

Wilson has stripped down to his boxers as well, and is carrying what appears to be every blanket they own in his arms. He begins pulling them over the bed, over the lump of House’s body. Creating heavy layers that aren’t at all unpleasant.

“What are you doing?” House asked, trying to sound annoyed.

“Warming you up.” Wilson replied.

“Then why are you practically naked?”

Wilson just smiles, and as the last blanket is smoothed out over the bed he slides underneath them, curling his body around House’s. Wilson radiates warmth, and House can admit it’s nice, though it will be awhile before the heat sinks into his leg. He’s about to say as much when Wilson places one large, warm hand over the scar on his leg. The body temperature heat isn’t enough to aggravate the nerves, but is enough to soothe them. Wilson runs hotter than House, apparently just enough hotter that his body can provide a small amount of relief to his painful leg.

“How's that?” Wilson asked, breath tickling the hairs on the back of House’s neck.

“It’s fine. Weren’t you doing something when I got home?” House questioned, pretending not to enjoy having his boyfriend as his personal heater.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Nothing more important than this.”

House feels strangely choked up. He hates when Wilson does this to him. He shouldn’t be getting emotional over a cuddle session in bed, no matter how much it helps his pain. He opts to say nothing, but feels Wilson smile against his skin regardless.

“Go to sleep, House.”

The pressure of the blankets, the feeling of Wilson’s body against him, and the warmth of his hand radiating into his scarred thigh have his eyes feeling heavy. He slips into sleep with the sound of Wilson’s breathing as a lullaby.

#housethemd writes #house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #gregory house #house md fanfiction #hilson fanfic

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braxiatel · 1 year

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👀

(Hehehehe let's see what thoughts u shall bestow upon me KEKW)

For you purp anon, something that isn’t an abandoned WIP, but rather one I have put on pause to focus on other projects. Here is part of the opening of my Kingdom of Boatem AU.

---

It was just after the sixth new moon of the twenty-second year of Scar’s life when he heard the news that Queen Antonaia of Boatem, her husband, and her eldest son had perished in a tragic airship accident. A mere three days later Scar was loaded into a carriage alongside all of his belongings, set to go to Boatem.

The late Queen had had three children, of which two now remained. Prince Mumbo, and young Princess Pearl.

No, not Prince Mumbo. Crown Prince Mumbo, incumbent ruler of Boatem.

Scar knew with certainty that by the time he and his entourage had completed the month-long journey to Boatem, he would be addressing the man as King. He might have made it to the coronation had he travelled by airship, but in present circumstances that did not seem wise.

Scar had met Mumbo only twice, and he only recalled the latter of the two. They had both been teenagers still. The Prince had seemed quite shy to Scar, barely speaking a word the entire day. Scar had thought then that perhaps that was for the best - his stepmother always told him off for talking so much, but would that not fit the much more quiet Prince Mumbo perfectly?

The other time they had met Scar had been a mere four years old, Prince Mumbo only three. It had been the day the two of them became officially betrothed, set to be married when Scar reached his twenty-sixth year - Or earlier, should circumstance dictate.

[...]

[H]is carriage finally approached the royal Palace of Boatem, which perched at the very top of one of the many mountains scattered across the region.

The long trip had left him tired to the bone, and he was oddly grateful to see such a small reception waiting for him. He had feared that the whole court would be here to greet their new… whatever his title would be.

Apart from the guards, of which there was an abundance, Scar counted only seven people waiting at the foot of the grand staircase.

Two men stood in the front, one half a step ahead of the other.

He was tall, thought Scar. Much taller than last time.

It was, perhaps, exaggerated by the winged man next to him being so short of stature, but even so, Scar was certain that his betrothed would stand taller than him, an impressive feat given that elves were generally taller than most other races.

Scar easily recognised the crown on his betrothed’s head as the royal crown of Boatem. He had missed the coronation, then. As he neared he could make out what looked like a modified guard’s uniform on the man next to King Mumbo. A bodyguard, probably, Scar decided. It made sense, with three members of the royal family having perished so recently.

“Here we go, Jellie,” he murmured, giving her one last stroke on the head for good luck. “You be nice to whoever shows you to our rooms, you hear me? We want to make a good impression.”

Jellie simply yawned in response, curling up in her seat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scar sighed as the carriage pulled to a stop.

(ask meme!)

#thanks for the ask purp anon! :D #ask #purp anon #Kingdom of Boatem AU #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mumscarian #yeah that's what this au is #are you surprised? P:

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masterofrecords · 6 months

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Angstober day 13: From Childhood

This will be a small one, I told myself. Barely a drabble, I told myself.

Well I'm a fucking liar, I guess.

Buttons

Luca was laughing. He laughed and laughed, and it made Leopoldo angrier and angrier.

“Ah…” Luca wiped the tears from his eyes. “Really, planting Enzo’s button under the cupboard was a stroke of genius. You almost got caught though.”

“I wouldn’t have had to do it in the first place if you hadn’t messed with the cake,” Leopoldo lashed out. It was scary, in honesty – if he got caught, Aunt Eloisa might have thought that he was the cake thief, and that would have been most unfortunate.

“Oh, come on, it worked out, didn’t it? He shouldn’t wear such fancy buttons, really. Or keep a better eye on his clothes.”

“Whatever,” Leopoldo grumbled. “Did you at least save me a piece?”

“Sorry!” Luca chuckled and whispered in his ear, “The great thing about stealing someone’s birthday cake is that you don’t have to share.”

And off he went, in search of new mischief. Leopoldo should have just let him get caught – but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

This was what big brothers were for, wasn’t it?

---

“Oh, will you stop nagging,” Luca waved Leopoldo off. “Who cares?”

“I care,” Leopoldo hissed, frantically hoping no one was listening at the door. “He was hurt, badly.”

“That was the whole point,” Luca pointed out. “Because he’s an asshole and he made fun of my hair. And I don’t like how he looks at Mamma.”

“That’s no reason to push a guy off the roof,” Leopoldo’s pleading fell on deaf ears. “What if he wakes up? What if someone saw you?”

“Nah,” Luca smirked. “I wiped his memory. Want to try, too?” He twirled the chain of his pendant around his finger, and goosebumps ran across Leopoldo’s back.

“Leave me out of your weird games,” he snapped. “Just… stay in your room. I’ll go check the roof.”

“Do you have to?” Luca rolled his eyes. “Won’t that just attract more attention?”

“You’re missing a button,” Leopoldo pointed out, jabbing a finger at the empty space on Luca’s waistcoat.

Luca looked down. “Ah,” he laughed softly, “so I am. What would I do without you?”

Indeed, what?

---

“You messed up.”

“Look, you don’t have to tell me that, I just need you to help me fix it.”

“If the police comes, there’s nothing I can do, Luca.”

“He heavily implied blackmail.”

Ah, of course. So much better.

They were walking through the dim streets, Leopold wasn’t sure where. He still didn’t know this town very well, and Luca’s absolute refusal to try and keep a low profile didn’t make things easier.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Beat him up so he doesn’t tell anyone? I hardly think that will work, besides, he’s twice my size.”

“Shut up and let me think.”

Luca had always considered himself the thinker in the family, severely underestimating the amount of planning that had to go into bailing him out of trouble – to say nothing of Leopold’s mental gymnastics to justify doing so.

They arrived at a small house, secluded enough that Leopold let himself relax a little.

“So, what now? Knock and try to reason with him?”

“No, no, we need to get in quietly. Can you pick the lock?”

There was light inside, and Leopold winced as he got the set of lockpicks out of his pocket. The lock itself wasn’t difficult, but he ran into an unfortunate problem once he finished with that.

“It’s bolted from the inside.”

“Can’t you do something with it?”

Leopold listened to the quiet of the nighttime street, already disturbed enough by the clinging of the picks.

“Not unnoticed. Look, just… let me talk to him, we’ll figure something out.”

Luca shook his head. Leopold was almost surprised he didn’t stomp his foot. After looking around, Luca suggested, “Can you get in through the chimney?”

“Are you an idiot?!” Luca shushed him, and Leopold continued in a quieter voice, “Unless you know some mumbo-jumbo to make me three times smaller and fireproof, that’s out of the question.”

Luca bit his lip and then his gaze finally landed on Leopold’s coat. His eyes lit up, “Those are ivory, aren’t they?”

He plucked one button off with surprising strength, and Leopold protested, “Oi, that was Dad’s!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up.” Luca bit his finger until it bled, pressed it to the shiny white surface. Leopold watched, desperately suppressing his disgust, as the droplet of blood boiled on top of the button, grew and solidified into a fleshy impression of a four-legged creature, the original ivory barely visible on its forehead.

The creature was thin and ugly, barely resembling the pictures of elephants Leopold had seen in books. At the command of Luca’s finger, it climbed the wall as if it was a spider, then disappeared in the chimney. In a few minutes, Leopold heard the latch quietly drop, and pulled the door open as quietly as he could.

With another sharp flick of Luca’s finger the creature dropped to the ground, dissolving into the carpet and leaving behind the slightly dirty button. Luca picked it up and pressed it into Leopold’s hands with a wide, unnerving smile.

When Leopold pressed the edge of his rapier to the blackmailer’s throat, he thought the hard part was over. That was what Luca wanted him for – the sneakiness, the light steps, the ability to take someone by surprise to give Luca a chance to find the papers and burn them.

But then Luca turned away from the fire, face cast in moving shadows, and smiled.

“Don’t,” Leopold tried to say, but Luca interrupted him.

“You know, there’s been this one thing that I’ve been meaning to try on a person. Get some feedback. Maybe teach someone a lesson on snooping in other people’s affairs.”

He stroked the chain around his neck and his smile grew wider.

And then the man screamed.

He jerked, cutting his throat against Leopold’s rapier – not enough to kill him, but more then enough to bleed. Leopold drew back, jumped off the chair he was standing on to avoid being accidentally pushed off.

“What are you doing, stop!” he hissed at Luca, unsure why he was still trying to be quiet – the screams must have alerted everyone in the neighbourhood to their presence.

“Teaching him a lesson,” Luca didn’t take his eyes off the man writhing in front of him in agony. “Just in case he had the idea to try this again.”

“Enough is enough,” Leopold stalked towards his brother, getting more and more enraged. “This is how you get caught, don’t you realize?”

He tried to pull at the chain of Luca’s necklace, hoping it would interrupt whatever magic was going on. Luca leaned away, turned to him, and then –

Everything was on fire. His body was burning, every nerve ending screaming for the torture to stop. He fell to his knees, unsure if he wanted to try and fight whatever was causing it or beg for mercy, and then –

It was gone.

As quickly as it came, the pain stopped, leaving him gasping at Luca’s feet.

“Well, then,” suddenly, Luca was all business. “I suppose now he’s seen too much, and his neighbours have heard too much. An accidental fire, what do you say?”

Leopold didn’t dare do anything but nod, and Luca leaned down to him with a smile.

“I knew I could count on you. Get what you need ready. I’ll take care of him.”

---

“Did you have to kill him?”

“He’s the reason Grandma’s dead, don’t you have any sense of pride?”

It felt like the same conversation all over again. His voice argued, but his mind was already running through the possibilities.

It was a big party – hiding the body wasn’t a possibility, but they could make things confusing. Those detectives, their cousin’s friends – they were a danger, but one that could possibly play in their favour.

The study – Archibald had another key, didn’t he? It would be easy enough to stumble into him, slice off a button off his frock…

His eyes fell on the letter opener, and an idea came to his mind.

“You said these detectives know magic?” Luca nodded.

Leopold looked around the study. Ah, a letter opener – wonderful.

He stabbed it into the dead body’s chest and turned to Luca. “Make sure if they look, they see what they need to see. Can you do that?” Luca nodded. “Ah, and make sure we’re heard somewhere… downstairs.”

The parts of a plan were coming together, the reluctant perfection of cover-up.

“I knew I could count on you,” Luca smiles, and Leopold shivered.

“Anytime,” he echoed.

That was what big brothers were for, wasn’t it?

#angstober2023 #masterofrecords angsts #masterofreocrds writes #day 13 #i love this pair of unhinged halflings #though coming up with the whole complicated genealogy was... an experience

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refuge-au · 2 years

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> Open the Pilot’s File

TFC: Try Out the New Toy

It took almost an hour and a half for the communications officers to herd the crowd of reporters, celebrities, government officials, and other miscellaneous bigwigs out of the room, leaving only the crew behind.

TFC recognized two of them, his copilot, and Xisuma, who seemed completely at ease and in control, his gradual descent into scruffiness curbed abruptly for the cameras that would doubtlessly be focused on him the instant he left.

The captain was doing some herding of his own, collecting crewmembers in a loose circle around him as he finished up the conversation he was having with the tall, dark haired man beside him, clasping his hands in front of him and smiling at the assembled group.

“Good morning, everyone.” He said, and a few people returned his greeting. “Thank you all so much for managing to make it here. I know we’re missing a few people still, but it’s better to have most rather than none, and unfortunately we can’t afford to wait for a date that everyone could attend. Rest assured, all essential personnel are present, or their job will be covered from the ground; there’s no risk to today’s test flight besides the usual risk of testing a ship that’s the first of its kind.”

His ‘joke’ earned him a few chuckles, but it did very little to alleviate the nervous energy in the room. It was like the air was buzzing with it. TFC’s geiger counter crackled quietly as he shifted from one foot to the other, reaching to adjust a dial without looking down.

“Well, then, I suppose we should get names connected to faces.” Xisuma continued, turning to the man that he had been talking to before. “Cub? Will you start?”

Cub, a tall man with dark hair, who was the only one in the room wearing business casual rather than a uniform of some sort, waved slightly. “Hey. I’m Cub. Head engineer, specializing in computer engineering, code. I’ll be on the ground today, monitoring everything, making sure neither X nor Mumbo have a nervous breakdown.”

X sighed softly, and the man next to Cub snorted. He was shorter, with brown hair cut very close to his head, and the beginnings of a beard starting to show on his face. As his chuckle made the group’s attention to him, he smiled. “Hey! I’m Impulse, mechanical engineer. I‘ve been across the pond with Cub and Mumbo and I can attest that most of his job is going to be keeping this one from having a breakdown of one type or another.” As he spoke, he motioned to the man to his right with his thumb.

Said man was the tallest person in the room, dark black hair slicked back with what must have been an ungodly amount of hair gel, and a large black mustache curling off of the lower half of his face.

“This is slander.” Mumbo said. “I can keep myself from having breakdowns quite well, thank you. Mumbo Jumbo. I’m an electrical engineer. I’ll be on the ground with Cub, and Impulse will be in the engine room to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

He turned to his right, and the young man next to him smiled. He was on the taller side of average, brown hair, with three nasty looking scars bisecting his face. He leaned casually on a slim metal cane as he spoke, his smile not fading for an instant as he addressed the group.

“Well, hello! I’m Scar, and I’ll be your copilot on this… adventure of ours. I’m sure you’ve heard all that talk about how recent my graduation was, but I assure you, I’m one of the best pilots you can find in the System. I won’t let you down.”

TFC would be the first to admit that he had had his doubts when he heard he was going to have a copilot who was fresh out of flight school. Anyone would have had doubts, especially considering the fact that they were going to attempt to fly the largest, arguably most complicated, spaceship ever built. Scar hadn’t had time to fly more than the most basic jets the Force had to offer, yet he was supposed to be taking the twelve hour shift that TFC couldn’t?

What felt like hundreds of runs in the simulator had assuaged most of his fears. The kid could keep his calm under pressure, could think on his feet, and knew his way around a cockpit. He and that engineer, Cub, were quite the duo, just judging by some of their conversations he had been privy to, which meant he knew at least a little bit of engineering tricks as well. Nine times out of ten, when he was the one that had to make a split second decision, he made the right one.

But for a mission that the fate of the human race rested on, nine times out of ten was not a very good average.

But hell, it wasn’t like TFC could do any better.

All in all, they could’ve done a much worse job in picking out a copilot, especially if they were planning on having TFC sync on the mission.

Scar turned to him, and TFC nodded. “Tin. You can call me TFC, if you want. I don’t care either way. I’m the pilot. Your lives are effectively in Scar and I’s hands the instant we get off the ground.” He grinned. “We’ll do our best.”

That got him a chuckle, and brought the invisible talking stick back around to Xisuma, who gestured in the direction of the door. “Those two that bit the bullet to give us a second to breathe were Zloy and Pix, the communications officers. Our navigator-slash-astronomer, Joe, was unable to make it, and our mechanic-slash-security-officer, False, was also waylaid. Our cryogeneticists were supposed to be here today as well, but as there have been some… threats, the decision was made to push back their arrival until closer to launch. It’s not the most helpful of things for us to do, but as you’ve all been told multiple times and will be told multiple times after this, it’s safest for everyone involved for this mission to be prepared remotely, then put together later.”

Xisuma took a breath, and smiled thinly. “So. That’s out of the way. What do you say we get this bird off the ground?”

The Refuge was a marvel of modern engineering, technology, art- the news had called it everything under the sun, but they all agreed: this was the best that anyone could do.

If it didn’t work, nothing would.

The ship loomed above the runway, taller than some of the base’s buildings and most definitely twice as long- a colony ship that would house less than fifty people, but enough supplies to feed, clothe, house, and protect generations. She wasn’t the most aerodynamic of things, but that was more than compensated for by the power generated from her twin massive engines and the massive retractable wings that could fold inwards to a quarter of their size for interstellar travel.

Something stirred in TFC’s chest as he looked up at the Refuge from inside the building’s doorway. Most of the rest of the crew busied themselves putting on masks and glasses, Scar slipping a medical grade respirator over the lower half of his face. Xisuma waved away the assistant that tried to offer him a mask, repeating the gesture when they tried to insist.

“Sir, there’s a pollutant advisory-”

“I don’t see you trying to press Tin into wearing one.”

“A couple more chunks of metal in my lungs can’t hurt me.” TFC said dryly. “Could hurt you.”

“I’m being flushed in two weeks. A few minutes without one on won’t kill me.”

The assistant looked helplessly at TFC who shook his head slightly, and they scampered away, refused mask in hand. Xisuma moved to the front of the group, directly in front of the doors, and rolled his shoulders back, standing at attention.

“Alright, guys. This is it. Ready?”

“Ready.” A chorus of voices replied, and X pushed the door open, leading them across the tarmac. As most of the group split off, heading for the control tower, TFC, Scar, and Impulse headed for the ship.

Impulse left them at the door, saluting and heading towards the engine room at the back as the pilots made their way to the bridge. As the doors slid open, TFC was struck by exactly how different it was from the models they had been training on.

The models hadn’t done nearly enough to convey the sheer size of it all. The bridge was massive, the cockpit a comparatively tiny part at the very front, a set of steel doors available to cut it off from the rest of the ship if need be. Buttons and screens flashed, levers and switches waited to be flipped, a dozen chairs sat unused, untouched. No expense had been spared, not on the long counters that held the consoles and controls, not on the grated metal flooring, not on the large gray chair that sat in the center of everything, directly behind the cockpit.

The news was right. It was a marvel.

TFC and Scar took their seats, Scar humming to himself tunelessly as they began to prime the engines, start all necessary routines, and prepare to take off. The Refuge purred under their fingertips as it turned on, lights flickering across the dashboard as twin screens, one on TFC’s left, and one on Scar’s right flashed on as well.

TFC reached up and flipped a switch, and his screen cut to the feed coming from the control tower. Scar did the same, only his screen showed the engine room, where a slightly fuzzy Impulse was pacing between the two massive engines, typing rapidly on a holopad, his eyes magnified by a pair of goggles and his ears covered by a set of headphones.

“Impulse?” Scar asked as TFC reached out to bring the yoke towards him. “What do you think?”

Impulse looked up, bringing a hand to his headphones, and when he pressed the button, he had to shout over the roar of the engines to be heard. “I’m not seeing any problems! You?”

“All systems normal here.” Scar said, turning to TFC, to in turn glanced at his screen.

“Zero, what do you think?” TFC said. “How’re we looking?”

“Absolutely gorgeous, Refuge. The pinnacle of modern technology, running at peak efficiency.” Xisuma grinned.

“Well, not quite peak efficiency.” Someone cut in, and Cub walked into view. “We’ve encountered a minor bug with some of the exterior cameras. Won’t be able to test the sync today.”

“I think there’s something off with some of the interior ones too, cause Impulse is looking very grainy.” TFC informed him.

“Great. We’ll get that fixed as soon as possible.” Cub said. “If you don’t have any other problems, I think you’re clear to go.”

“Got it. Zero, this is Refuge, requesting permission to take off using Alpha Runway.” Scar said.

“Refuge, Alpha Runway has been cleared. Feel free to begin taxiing.” Someone said, and TFC nodded.

“Thanks Zero. Beginning taxi.”

The engines hummed louder as he shifted into gear, and TFC swallowed down a spike of excitement as the ship began to move forward slowly. It had been a while since he had been at the helm- and he’d never piloted anything like this before. Never.

Even back when it was routine, he had always loved it- the feeling of taking off, of gravity releasing its hold, the sheer audacity of thousands of tons of metal defying the laws of physics and flying. Flying.

The ship began to pick up speed, and the miscellaneous chatter from the control room died away. Scar’s humming faded as he pulled one of the subscreens towards him, checking the levels of something- it didn’t particularly matter what to TFC at the moment, so he didn’t bother to try to find out.

The engines shifted, the humming turning to a low growl as the Refuge turned, straightening herself on the runway.

“Zero, we are about to commence our first takeoff.” TFC said, reaching overhead to flip open a case and press a button. “Impulse? Everything’s still fine?”

“Nothing’s blown up yet!” The engineer yelled back. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

“Well,” TFC said, turning his attention back to the runway, and his copilot. “This is it. Got any last words in case we turn into a shooting star?”

“Cub, if I die, tell Jellie I love her.” Scar said, wrapping his hands around his joysticks. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“How could I do anything stupid when you’re taking all the stupid with you?” Cub asked, the smile evident in his voice. At least somebody wasn’t worried about an imminent explosion.

“What about you, Tin?” Xisuma asked. “Any last words?”

“Well, if something ends up going wrong, I’m sure you’ll hear them, and I’m sure you won’t be able to let the press quote them. Say, you aren’t going to give them the recordings of this conversation, are you? I know they’re filming along the runway.”

“No, they won’t get the conversation records.”

“Good. All set here. Scar?”

“We’re just sitting here wasting fuel at this point. Let’s get this bird in the air.” Scar said, shifting in his seat and twisting his head to crack his neck.

“Rodger.” TFC said, and he pressed the yoke forward. The engines caught, and then their tone changed, rising in tone and intensity as the ship began to move once again.

No one spoke as they moved forward, agonizingly slowly at first, then faster and faster. The end of the runway moved closer, closer, the engines’ roar grew louder- a light came on next to the screen, and TFC felt his breath catch in his throat, pulling back-

Refuge’s nose tipped upwards…

And her wheels lifted off the ground.

She soared upwards, engines singing, computers whirring, testing systems, running diagnostics and all coming up with the same answer: apart from the cameras, everything was working perfectly.

That information was relayed to the control room, and their reaction brought a smile to TFC’s face. Papers flew, and Xisuma swept Cub and Mumbo into what must’ve been a bone crushing hug- but they was too busy beaming to care. Cheers made any talk almost unintelligible.

Scar laughed, and TFC glanced over at him to find him grinning. “It worked! We did it!”

And they had done it. The bird had fledged. They were that much closer to the mission being started… and completed. Everything going well meant they had a greater chance of doing it. Of saving everyone.

Of starting over.

TFC grinned back. “We certainly did.”

Scar held out his fist, and TFC, after a moment of hesitation, bumped it.

Computer: Input Command:

> Open the Captain’s File

> Continue

> 01110100 0̶̛̛̥̬̭͖͕̻̪͓̠͚̥́̐͗́̋̈́̄̉͘ͅ1̶̥̐̍̄͊̾͐̄̇̂̚̕͝1̴̨̼͍͚̽0̴͚͠1̶̨̨̺̩̺͔̙̲̠̜͓̳̙̀͒̍͜͠0̸̛̬̣͌̓͒͌̄̽̏̏͌̽͆͆̽̕0̶̛͕̰͔̭͎̯̯̻͓̟͒́̅̌̽̉͋̌̒̅͘͠0̵̰̞͓̋́͗͑͒̇͊̍͆̔̈́̇̑ͅ 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110011 00100000 0̸̡͕̖̗͕̦̪̬̪̦̺̹̮̙̦̝̯̺̮͋̄̾̆̿́͛̐͆̃ͅ1̶͓̳̬͓͉͕͔̺̩͔̗̘̆͋͌̈̑̚͜ͅ1̵̛̤̝̪̗͍̦̙̦͓̗̩͔̩̺̞̋̉̂̉̈̾̆̈̄͂̒̏̚͠1̸̘̠͖̜̘͑́͊͆̋̇̓̅̈́̄̄̈́͒̚͘ͅ0̷̡̛̭̈́́͒̇̑͊͐̋̓́̎̽͊̽̾̚0̷̳̳͖̪̼̞͓̤̦̠̹̤͙͖̺͂̀͒͝1̶̳̬͙̥̼͔̭̭͕̝̜̐͂1̸̛͇̙̟͖̣͍͉̼̣͂͗̀̏̈̈͆̈́̀̀̓͜͜͜͝ 0̵̭͛1̴̙̋1̶̧̽0̵̰̚1̴͓͊1̷͖̚1̶͈̓1̶͎̎ ̵͈̍01101101 01100101 01101111 0̵̢̱̰̿̋́1̴̰̱̙̩̖̔1̶̢̨͇̩͗̀̄̽0̷͍̪͔̤͕̼̥̪̊̈́̆͋̄͜͠1̴̞̳͍̘̉͛̌͒͒͋̑͠1̸̢̘͕̹̼͈͙͍́͛̌̒̊̇͑̀͘͝1̷̝̖̓́͛0̴̠͓͙͆̑̈́̆ 01100101 00100000 0̸̡̢̡̨̛̜̭̘̟͕͎̠̬̘͕͕̻̳͎̬͉͖͈̖͖̪̠̗͊̀̅͗̈̏́̀͑̉̀͊́͌̅̎̃̾̀͊̔͌̇̽̐͆̽̄̍̓̀̍̀͗̈́̍̎̍͜͠1̶̢̢̢̨̣̩̞͔̰̮͈̹̝̦̠̞̯̜̫̭̻̪̱̖̳̜̥̲͚̭͔̣͙͕͎͉̜̻̘̲̞̼̩͚̖̣̓̐̊͆͛͒̐ͅ1̶̡̧̧̗̮̬̜̮͔̳͚͉̦̯͓̗̫͉̱͍̜͎̱̬̠͇͓̫̥̺͈̖̄̓̔̍͒̓̃̓̏͆́́͆̓̅̃̉͊̏̅͒̋̓̐͒̈́́̋͘͘͜͜͠ͅ0̵̡̡̢̨̧̨̨̝̝͍̲͖͈̺͈̘̮̹͍͚̲̫̦̣̻̤̲̣̘̗͈̰̤͉̰͔̗̥̻̂̊̆̅̍̿̏̀͌̋̄̍̀̃͊̐̀̽̓̌̔̓́̍̂̽̏́̒̚̕͜͜͝ͅ1̸̛̛͈͇͖̬̉́́̋̇́̀̊̏̓̏͊̔̃̆̀͐̃̃̇̍́̊̇́͊͌͌͂̒̒̔̈̈́͛͗̑̿̄͘̕͘͜͠͝͠ͅ0̴̧̨̢̨̡̡̧̱̯̪̫̹̣̯̲̘̹͖̤̪͈̺̘͈͚̟̞̙͙̞̹̭͎̮̝̝̜̹̪̲͑̊̍̂̀̓̋̾̅͆̌͐̅̀̃̿̐͛̄̚̕̕͜͝ͅͅ0̷̧̛͖͔̪̣̱̳̳̫͂͆̏̍̿̑̔̂͊̓̆͒̓͌͝͝͝͠0̶̨̡̧̨̡̧̨̡̹͍̘̳͎̙̩̥̭͈̝͓̥̼̻̠͉̗̳͇̣̲̖̣̩̞̮̙͎̰̠͓̝̬̹̺͓͐͘͜͝ͅ 01100101 01110010 01100101

#the universe is made of stories not atoms // tfc #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft refuge au #refuge au #hermitcraft arg #hermitcraft refuge arg #command input needed #prologue #refuge arg #tfc #mumbo #impulse #xisuma #scar #zloy #pixl #joe #false

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haworthiaace · 3 years

Text

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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stuckontheslowpath · 2 years

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/tell Skizzleman (Slow Path Oneshot)

For the first few months, everything is (relatively) alright. Then the loneliness sets in in earnest.

They all have people they miss. Ren misses Doc, Grian misses Mumbo, Impulse misses Zedaph and Tango. They all miss everyone.

But at the heart of it all, Impulse misses Skizzleman. One of, if not the, oldest and dearest friends he has. They've never been out of contact for this long before.

And really, even nine years in the past, he could message Skizz. They've known each other long enough. But what would it look like, if his past self is right there with Skizz when he tries to reach out? No, it's best he doesn't.

He still can't force himself to put his communicator away.

Months pass.

He starts staying up later than he should. They have beds now, they can sleep, they should sleep. Along with the ability to sleep comes the return of tiredness. Still, he finds himself sitting up hours into the night, staring at his communicator screen, watching the cursor blink like a metronome of despair.

Months pass.

They’ve been here for over a year now. They’ve moved across the ocean, taken their first steps into the Nether, rebuilt their home more than once. They’ve lost Ren and found him again. He’s started to find his feet again in this place, even if his work to protect the others is more of a need than he’d like to admit.

He doesn’t stare at his communicator every night now, but he hasn’t stopped completely. It’s almost funny, in a way that isn’t funny at all, how the less he looks at it the stronger the urge to actually send a message grows.

Months pass.

He sits at the foot of his bed (their bed, really, with all three shoved together; nightmares are much easier to calm when they can reach each other immediately) and stares down at the screen.

/tell Skizzleman Hey, man, what are you up to?|

He shouldn’t send it. Chances are good his past self is somewhere near Skizz, or at least in close contact. It’ll only cause problems.

/tell Skizzleman Hey, man, w|

Someone flops on the bed beside him and a head lands on his knee. He ruffles their hair without looking up.

“Where’s Ren?”

“Finishing up in the garden, he’ll be in soon,” Grian replies. “What are you up to?”

The smile starting to take shape on his face freezes into something brittle.

“Impulse?”

Wordlessly, he tilts his screen so Grian can read it.

/tell Skizzleman |

Grian doesn’t say a word. No words exist that could make this better. Instead, he leans more of his weight against Impulse like a living weighted blanket and reaches up to cover that trembling hand holding the communicator with one of his own.

Months pass.

He takes to writing unsent messages with all the things he wants to say.

/tell Skizzleman How are you doing?|

/tell Skizzleman Anything fun happen lately?|

/tell Skizzleman You know you’re my best friend, right?|

/tell Skizzleman … I miss you, buddy.|

Months pass.

He tries to curb the habit.

He fails.

Months pass.

Years pass.

/tell Skizzleman I’m scared I’m going to forget what your voice sounds like, Skizz.|

He puts away his communicator and gets up. There’s work to do in the basement; they’re packing up to move again.

His communicator chimes halfway down the stairs and his breath freezes in his lungs. With shaking hands he grabs it from his pocket and pulls up the screen.

<Skizzleman> Very funny, dude. I was literally just talking to you.

And there, on the line before, no blinking cursor in sight:

<ImpulseSV> I'm scared I'm going to forget what your voice sounds like, Skizz.

He hit send.

<ImpulseSV> I didn't mean to send that.

It dawns on him a tick after hitting send that he shouldn't have responded at all.

<ImpulseSV> I mean

He lets out a frustrated sound and shoves the communicator back in his pocket, steadfastly ignoring it no matter how many times it chimes. There is packing to do.

Later that night, he sits awake for hours, watching messages come through. Skizz is nothing if not persistent. Ren and Grian sit up with him, huddled in front of the fireplace, keeping him company as he cries.

<Skizzleman> As if you’d pass up a chance to make fun of me.

<Skizzleman> ? Hold on, what?

<Skizzleman> So wait. You didn’t send anything? But I still got messages FROM you?

<Skizzleman> They don’t show up in your logs?

<Skizzleman> Weird.

<Skizzleman> Well there’s SOMEONE messaging me from your ID. Sounds like you, too.

<Skizzleman> I’m serious, come look at these.

<Skizzleman> … buddy, are you okay?

<Skizzleman> You don’t have to hide. I won’t be mad.

<Skizzleman> Will you talk to me?

<Skizzleman> Okay, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Will you listen, instead?

<Skizzleman> We’re in the middle of Naked and Scared right now. Stuck in a hole, so don’t worry about the time.

<Skizzleman> We have to name a ghast this season. What do you think, can we do it?

<Skizzleman> It’s only day one, there’s plenty of time for things to go wrong.

The one-sided conversation continues for dozens of messages as Skizz rambles on about the day to an unknown person on the other end of a chat with a friend. Eventually, he sends an apologetic goodnight, and the messages stop coming through.

Ten minutes later, Impulse sends a final response.

<ImpulseSV> Thank you.

Then he mutes the chat and puts his communicator away. The future-past is a temptation he doesn’t need here and now, no matter how much it hurts to cut that tie.

#hermitcraft au #stuck on the slow path au #fic #impulse #look I cannot get enough of the Imp & Skizz dynamic rn #in the past few weeks I have binged all 22 seasons of N&S both skyblock series and everything else I could find #and this just would not get out of my head #(I promise I am still working on that ask but it is So Long)

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justletmeplayminecraft · 3 years

Text

The Art of Creation

something i wrote a while back, set in an unrevealed sci-fi au (these three aren't even in the main plotline but they have a backstory. we're in too deep.)

iskall and grian move mumbo into a robot body!

featuring: pseudo-robotics, this is rough with an abrupt ending, set in space! futuristic au!, can't say the actual setting cause that's spoilers, ai/android!mumbo, grian's a gremlin but what's new

"We really think this'll work?" Grian asks in a hushed voice, peering over Iskall's shoulder. Iskall flips the last few latches shut before stepping back from the metallic body. A bulk of wires remain connected from the body's back, hopefully enough for the data transfer. The rest have retracted into the ceiling - unnecessary for this process.

"Only one way to find out," Iskall tells him, taking a deep breath. He's a coder, not an engineer. But hopefully with Grian's help, this will work. Looking above him, he calls to the metal ceiling, "Mumbo?"

There's a static buzz before Mumbo's voice replies from several speakers around the room, "Here to assist, Iskall!"

"We think your body's ready, dude."

There's a pause before the AI speaks again, the formality in his voice gone, "Really? Oh my goodness, you've actually built me a body! This is incredible!" Grian bursts into high laughter, whilst Iskall sticks to a private smile of his own. One of them needs to keep their head screwed on, here.

"When's the last time you backed up your systems?" He asks. He swears if he listened hard enough, he could hear Mumbo retrieving the information.

"4AM this morning, Iskall. Shortly after you went to sleep!" Iskall notices Grian's side-eye. He rolls his eyes, mouthing a quiet, 'Hypocrite.' Grian snickers, but says nothing.

"Do another backup now, don't override the last one," Iskall instructs him. "Remember you might not be able to connect to the ship's systems for a while after this." There's a noise akin to a squeal over the speakers.

"Oh my word, I can't believe this. Is this really happening?"

"Mumbo, do the backup!" Grian calls.

"Okay, okay! Starting the backup now!" There's a low beep as Mumbo's voice falls silent. It's a tone the pair rarely hear. Mumbo tries to schedule his backups around their schedule. And, well. It's not like he gets updates anymore. They wait in silence for him to boot up again, knowing Mumbo doesn't enjoy missing out on conversations. A higher beep comes about a minute later, Mumbo cheerily telling them, "All done!"

"Do you think you're ready?" Iskall asks. "Everything should be set up for you to transfer your data over."

"Really?! Can I?" Iskall finally laughs, wondering how an AI can so perfectly replicate the feeling of an excited child.

"Yeah! Go for it, dude."

"This is so exciting!" They can't see Mumbo moving around, but Iskall spots when the wires light up, patterned LEDs signalling an electronic signal. "This is the right one, isn't it?"

"Yep, that's it." Grian tells him, bouncing over Iskall's shoulder. He wonders which of the two is more excited.

"Alright! Starting the data transfer now." Mumbo's voice fizzles out on the last word. Iskall dares step towards the body, watching the wires curiously. Without the LEDs, they wouldn't be able to tell anything is happening. It's still hard to comprehend the magnitude of what they're watching - the intensity of information that must be passing through those wires. Mumbo's no simple AI, as Iskall's learnt the hard way.

The light in Mumbo's core turns on, red washing over the silver metal surrounding it. Iskall jumps back, Grian grabbing his arm and peering nervously around him.

"Is he-" Grian's hesitant question is cut off when bright eyes flicker on, a quiet buzz filling the room. Iskall watches tiny cameras adjust, shutters correcting for new input. Until an arm raises robotically, as ironic as the term is. It's held above its eyes, bending each finger in turn. Iskall holds his breath.

"It worked!" The body - Mumbo - finally declares. Iskall and Grian flinch at the volume, Mumbo quickly murmuring, "Oh sorry, let me adjust that." It's strange hearing the voice coming from one source, never mind seeing Mumbo's mouth move as he talks. "Is this better?"

"That sounds good!" Grian says, bouncing forward. It's not hurting Iskall's ears now, so he agrees. But he has to grab Grian before he's offering a hand out to Mumbo.

"He needs to learn motor control," Iskall reminds him. "We don't want any crushed hands." Grian whines, but moves away.

"Sorry, Mumbo, you'll have to stand up on your own." Iskall steps behind Mumbo, a bit unnerved how he turns to follow him. He's far too used to that body being inanimate.

"I'm going to try unhooking you first, is everything set for that?" Mumbo looks at his lap before nodding, the movement a bit too aggressive.

"No data is currently running through the wires, and the body's charge is at 100%."

"Good stuff," Iskall agrees. Unhooking these will be the big test. Then it's seeing if Mumbo can move unassisted. The AI, android, robot? Iskall isn't sure the best term to use for him now. Mumbo is already testing each limb, bending joints back and forth with precise movements. Iskall flicks a few switches, turning the wires until he hears a click. He raises each one towards the ceiling, out of the way. "Everything okay?" Iskall checks as the last wire moves upwards.

"Systems are fine, Iskall! Everything's working!" Mumbo taps his hands against his legs. "Can I stand up now?"

"You can try," Iskall tells him. "Take it easy, though-" Mumbo is already pushing forward, nearly falling straight over before his knees lock into place, metal fingers scraping the edge of the table. Neither Iskall nor Grian are breathing.

"I did it!" Mumbo declares, shuffling his feet around until he's facing Iskall. Iskall laughs, bending forward.

"Yeah, you did it, dude," he replies, breathless.

"You've got a body, Mumbo!" Grian's excitement matches Mumbo's, holding his arms up. "You can move around now!

"I can?" Mumbo takes a tentative step forward, reluctant to let go of the table. "I can!"

"You're also-" Grian takes a step back, "-Really tall." Mumbo pauses, tilting his head. He looks down at his body as if seeing it properly for the first time. Then to Grian. To Iskall.

"I am, aren't I?" Considering how he towers a good foot over each of them: Yes. He is. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's a Mumbo thing," Iskall tells him, smiling. He thinks it suits his personality perfectly. "Right, let's start with some basics. How about walking?"

"Yes! Walking!" There's a slight bounce through Mumbo's joints. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Dude, you're gonna be a walking talking member of this crew," Grian replies. He's pretty much vibrating on the spot. "There's so much stuff to show you!"

"First things first," Iskall interrupts. He knows the two of them will get distracted otherwise. "Remember the walking simulations you did?" Mumbo sighs like a scolded child.

"Alright, alright." Despite the disappointment, he's still smiling. And Iskall is too.

It's really worked. They really did it.

Mumbo deserves this.

#hermitcraft #mumbojumbo #iskall85 #Grian #my writing #am i editing this just because we're stuck in traffic and i have nothing else to do? yes #void blob au #bad news. finished it. still stuck in traffic.#save me.

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

@petrichormeraki @strawberrylemonz are the obvious influences of this chapter since it’s grian backstory!!! I make mention of the Antarctic empire, Yandere Highschool and Evo, but you probably don’t need to have seen them to know what’s going on (tbh i’ve only seen Evo and not smp earth or YHS)

i’ve uploaded the fic onto my ao3 if y’all want to read it there.

A castle stood in the middle of frozen plains. Though the wind was cold and harsh, inside was warm and cozy. There was the sound of a few people running through the halls, none of them that old.

“Blood for the Blood God!” A young voice yelled as they tackled someone.

“Hey! Get off me!” A similar voice spoke.

“Come on Techno, you’re taller than me!”

“And you have wings! Get your own blood!”

A third voice spoke up as they ran by. “I’m gonna have the last of the juice!”

“No! That’s my blood!” The young avian jumped up from pinning his one brother down and ran after the other. “Wilburrrrrr!”

By the time Techno reached the kitchen, his brothers were fighting in front of the fridge. As they tustled, he opened the fridge up and pulled out some cherry juice and used the last of the bottle to fill his glass. “Sorry Blood God, my juice now.”

The two kids stopped fighting and the avian pouted. “That’s not fair!”

The three of them ended up arguing until someone new entered the kitchen. A man with raven wings and wearing a crown walked in holding a baby in his arms. “Boys…” he spoke in a tone that made the triplets immediately stop what they were doing.

“It’s Techno’s fault! He stole my blood!”

“Only because you were too busy fighting with Wilbur.”

“Only cause he tried to get the blood first.”

“You weren’t fast enough!”

“I’m super fast! I just didn’t want to use my wings and beat you and make you cry!”

“I wouldn’t cry!”

“Everyone says you would!”

The cheery tone from the arguing children seemed to disappear along with the cost warmth as a chill seemed to find its way into the castle. The king carefully passed the baby to Techno and then kneeled down. “Xelqua, are you hearing the voices again?”

“No.” Xelqua said, obviously lying, making the king sigh.

“You know you need to tell daddy when you start to hear them again.”

Xelqua crosses his arms. “Techno doesn’t always tell you when he hears them!”

“And I don’t like him doing that either.” The king sighed. “Will you promise to always tell me if I get you some more juice?”

“Blood for me!” Xelqua said happily, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, blood for the Blood God!” Techno’s replied, handing the baby back to his dad.

They were only separated for a moment. Philza has his children holding onto his wings as they went through the market. He heard Xelqua cheer at seeing a stand of music discs. Before Phil could remind his son to stay with them, the child had let go of his wing.

The king immediately moved to grabbed Xelqua, only to find him missing. He assumed he was just faster and lost in the crowd, but even going on a path to the music stand, his son was missing.

He started searching in a wider area, some of the crowd started looking too. Philza started to worry about his son being kidnapped with him being a prince and all. He offered a reward, right there in the crowd for whoever found his son. He hoped it would work, but it didn’t.

Phil kept searching even when Wilbur started to complain he was tired and the baby in his arms started wailing. But his son didn’t reappear.

In a distant world, Xelqua put his foot down on the sidewalk, surprised to see it not cobblestone and also barely anyone in sight. “Daddy?” He looked around for his dad, but he wasn’t there. “D-daddy? D-dad?!” He looked around wildly, but still there was no sign of the king. “Dad! T-Techno! Wilbur!” He shouted for his family. But they weren’t there.

A woman spotted the lost Xelqua and took him to the police. When he described his family and home, the officers were left scratching their heads. They listed him as a found person, but no one ever came.

After a month he was put in the foster system. Compared to his previous life as a prince, Being an orphan was the worst thing ever. He hated being bullied for everything. His wings, which he eventually learned to hide completely. The way he talked, which caused him to try and hide his accent. And his name. That wasn’t something he could easily change, but when he ran away and started a new life on his own, it was easier. And when Sam and Taurus asked for his name. It was Grian.

Part of Grian was glad when the universe went sideways and he couldn’t find Sam or Taurtis. He had done some things that most people would frown upon. But he had to do them. He needed the ransom money, he needed to help his friends escape, he needed to kill YakuzaKaru. And it hadn’t helped when the voices told him he was right.

But suddenly he was in a world that was much simpler and closer to how home had been. He was free to do whatever he pleased. He ended up moving towards an ocean and making a castle in the middle of it. It wasn’t the Antarctic Empire, but it was his empire. His Grian Empire.

And it was so much better here. If he exploded someone or robbed them or trapped them in a box, he wasn’t in danger of getting hurt or arrested. The worst that happened was the Watchers showing up. They liked using clay and Grian needed clay. So he stole every bit he could. Of course, the Watchers didn’t like that, so he was told to burn it or have his items trapped away or something else.

Grian thought it was unfair. What gave them the right to choose what he was doing was wrong? He didn’t see anyone else get in trouble. And the voices agreed with him, it wasn’t his fault.

And then he was taken away by the Watchers. While he was scared by that, the voices assured him it would be fine. The Watchers had just been testing him. And now they were giving him a chance to join. He would have said no, but then he thought about the family he lost. The Watchers were powerful. If he became one, he could find his family again.

He took the power. He became a Watcher. The voices became clearer and he felt complete. At least until he realized he couldn’t find his family, even with all the power being a Watcher gave him. He could see into a million worlds, but it had been years, and when he looked into the world that housed his home, all he saw was an old empty castle. There was no one left.

Grian ended up shutting away his Watcher side in anger. He finally had the chance to see his family and they were gone. And if those voices hadn’t told him to take the power and look, he wouldn’t have learned the truth. Grian preferred the idea that he could see his family again, or at least imagine the possibility, then know for sure that he was truly alone.

So Grian used his powers as a Watcher to hide the voices and the powers away. If he wanted to, he could pull them back, but why bother. He stayed with the Watchers for a while, gazing into the world he had just left before reaching for his powers just a little to look into other worlds. He then met someone who felt like his match. Everyone knew Redstoners and Builders fit perfectly together. And Grian was a builder while this man created redstone masterpieces.

Grian watched as the man left into a server called Hermitcraft. He followed along and searched for the admin of the world. The admin seemed surprised to see Grian, but allowed him to join them, though not right away as they were going to be moving worlds soon. Grian agreed to wait, and wait he did. The moment the world was open, Grian took himself there. It was empty for a short bit, but then other people started showing up.

Grian followed the redstoner Mumbo around, glad to have a new friend. He didn’t understand half the things Mumbo talked about when it came to redstone, but it was still fun to listen to. It helped distract him from all that came before.

Once or twice, Grian had to use his powers from being a Watcher, and he had to explain to Xisuma what he was. The Voidwalker seemed to understand if be a little put off by how someone like Grian could actually be a Watcher.

When they moved to another world, Grian followed. It was peaceful for the longest time until Mumbo created Hermit Challenges. Well, it wasn’t right when he created them, but later down the line. He was just asked to wear blue. It shouldn’t have been that hard to do. But he always wore red. Blue wasn’t his color, it was his brother’s color. Grian tried arguing with Mumbo, asking him to allow the challenge to be skipped. He didn’t explain why he didn’t want to do it, so Mumbo said he had to.

Eventually, Grian wore blue. And then the mansion exploded. Everyone rushed to the ruined building and saw Grian in front of it, holding TNT. But Grian didn’t look like himself. He had tried to hide the memories away. It was just going to be for a day, but to hide the memories of his part life, he had to be a Watcher. And being a Watcher brought back his voices. And if he hated blue so much, why have a mansion that was all blue?

It took days for everyone to calm him down and get him back to normal. They panicked when he brought out his powers once more though it was just to repair what he had destroyed. Grian refused to meet Mumbo’s eyes for a while, so he went to his second closest friend Iskall to talk with. Despite Iskall’s insistence that he was not a therapist, he agreed to help Grian talk through what was going on in his mind.

Between talks, Iskall spoke with Xisuma to relay what he had learned and soon all the Hermits were informed about what was going on with Grian. Of course Grian didn’t give out every detail like his life with Sam and Taurtis and the fact that he was a prince. All he said was he lost his family and ended up in a not so great crowd as a teen.

The next time Grian asked to opt out of something, people quickly obliged, both to not have the newest hermit hurting more, and also to make sure the server wasn’t destroyed by a Watcher going haywire.

It was months after the incident of the mansion exploding that Tommy appeared. No one knew where the kid had appeared from but it was obvious that sending him back couldn’t be an option. Mambo and Grian both took a liking to Tommy, Grian also being the newest Hermit and Mumbo being the youngest. Well, obviously now Tommy was both the youngest and newest, but it was the principle of the matter.

Though he was extremely wary of the pair at first, Tommy quickly warmed up to them, especially Grian. The two of them were so similar, people assumed they were siblings at one point. When someone pointed it out, then immediately regretted it because Grian got upset and started yelling at them. He flew off and Tommy followed behind, not knowing what was going on.

Grian explained how he lost his family and how by the time he finally got home, they were all gone. Tommy told Grian about his own family, how they had slowly all gone a little crazy at the situation Dream had put them in. Slowly, the two of them bonded, just talking about the situation, joking around. Grian told some stories and Tommy replied with his own.

It was when Tommy pretended to be his oldest brother and said ‘blood for the blood god’ when Grian froze and became pale. Neither of them had used names for their family. At least, Tommy hadn’t used anything other than nicknames. Grian asked if the blood god was Xelqua. Tommy asked how Grian could possibly know that name.

When Grian learned Tommy was his brother, he pulled the teen into a crushing hug. He refused to let go for the longest time, terrified that just like last time, the moment he let go, they would end up in separate worlds. Tommy pretended to complain, but he was fine with Grian hugging him. He understood.

Grian made sure everyone was together when he used his Watcher powers again. Tommy had no clue what was going on and why everyone looked ready for war. The Hermits had promised they didn’t do that here, and it was worse that they all seemed ready to specifically fight Grian. Tommy nearly jumped between then, ready to fight every hermit for his brother, when Grian pulled out his Watcher powers. If Tommy had been scared of Dream, he was suddenly even more scared of his brother.

The moments seemed to stretch out and the Hermits started moving towards Grian, ready to fight a Watcher, when he pushed it back down. Immediately Hermits were shedding armor and putting their elytra back on, glad that no fighting had to occur. Xisuma pulled Tommy aside to fully explain everything to the boy while Mumbo stayed with Grian as a shoulder to cry on. When Tommy returned, Grian once again held him close, this time seeming more worried about losing his brother. Though not in the sense that Tommy could disappear, but in the sense that Tommy could be like his brothers, losing themselves to madness. Just like Grian had nearly done.

While everyone argued, Grian used his Watcher powers more, gazing into the SMP that Tommy had come from. Though no one liked the methods, they were at least glad to get more insight into what had led Tommy to being the way he was. And because of it they were able to help him heal better.

One thing that became obvious was how the time within the world of Hermitcraft passed faster than in other worlds. It helped explain why it was so odd that Grian and Tommy, who once were only around five years apart were now closer to ten. Because of that, there was little worry of the SMP catching them by surprise and trying to find Tommy. Before the next MCC meeting, Tommy hit a growth spurt which made it harder for his old friends to recognize him even before he put on a slight disguise.

Back in Hermittown, Tommy slowly learned to be like his new family. Instead of stealing or hoping for handouts, he used the knowledge from the other Hermits to make farms and get plenty of resources. He didn’t mind spending hours in a mine as the mix of an efficiency five pickaxe and a haste two beacon made the stone break as if it were simply breaking grass. It was peaceful other than the occasional monster showing up and Grian looked proud of him every time so it always seemed worth it. Especially as he always ended up with plenty of diamonds.

When he first started building, the biggest thing Tommy made was a cobble tower up to the build limit, but after mining so much, filling his inventory with cobble, and having an amazing builder for a brother, Tommy built more. He created what looked like a tall wizard tower, which Grian begrudgingly was happy about, though Tommy saw the way Scar smiled smugly at Grian. For the most part the tower was just cobble, but here and there were stone bricks and mossy cobble, spruce and dark oak wood, and other stones to bring some color.

There were different floors and Tommy nearly gave Iskall a heart attack when the redstoner took a tour of the tower and walked in on the floor entirely made of diorite. One floor was filled with yellows and greens and housed a single bee which everyone was pretty sure somehow held part of Tubbo’s soul. It was messy, but at the top of the tower, Mumbo had helped Tommy create a cycling screen. Tommy made half of it the flag of L’Manburg and the other half the flag of the Antarctic Empire. Every few days he would flip a lever and the flag would change. Though certain parts of his past weren’t the greatest, Tommy was glad to have something to remind him of it, and Grian was glad to see the flag of his old family once again.

The last time Grian peeked into the SMP, he saw Dream getting so close to finding a way to Hermitcraft. He warned Xisuma who carefully told other Hermits to prepare, trying to not scare Tommy. Eventually the teen found out, which was probably for the best so when Dream did show up, he didn’t completely panic. Tommy tried to deny Dream could find a way in, and forgetting the time difference between the two worlds, Tommy slowly thought that he really wouldn’t show up.

But when Tubbo appeared and mentioned Dream would be coming, it became very real. Tommy prepared as did Grian. Grian flew to his brother to give him comfort before the battle started. Grian said he would do anything to make sure they couldn’t take Tommy. Tommy asked Grian to promise him not to use his Watcher powers.

Grian hesitated. He had been using the powers more and more. He’d slowly been getting used to them. Surely it would be fine for an emergency. But Tommy wouldn’t listen to Grian’s reasoning and reluctantly Grian promised not to use those powers.

He broke his promise.

#hermit!tommy au #watcher!grian #avian!grian #triplet au #grian #grian xelqua #hermitcraft #dreamsmp #evolution smp #yandere highschool #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza #tommyinnit #mumbo jumbo #My writing

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 49- The Underground

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block (new computer and I still can’t fuckin at you)

Turns out the hermits aren’t the only ones who wish to get rid of Magistrate Dolios.

____________________________________

Etho drops into the canal below, water rippling without a single drop to disturb the silent cave. Heterochromatic eyes rove across the dark, dank tunnel, waving one hand for the others to follow. Scar comes next, much less gracefully as he misses the last rung and tumbles into the canal with a heavy splash.

They were beneath the noble district of the city. Grown above the canals like most of Milliara, they built up beyond the lifeblood of Lairyon. Left it behind, to pass through in these underwater canals, until they lead to a fountain, messenger canal, or the rest of the city.

Once Xisuma’s boots are in the water, he sloshes forward without pause. He knows who he saw, he’s just not sure if he believes it. Ex never gets involved with anything. He always waits, watches from the sidelines. When X wanted to fight, it was Ex that stayed behind. When X wanted to be a guild, Ex went on his own.

He continues on, following the distance sound of scraping and scuffling, harsh against the soft patter of water and trickle of running water. Xisuma rounds the corner, white light reflecting in the distance off the damp walls. He’s so focused on the light at the end he doesn’t notice the movement in the shadows. At least, not until it’s too late.

A warm hand claps over Xisuma’s mouth, muffling any attempt for him to cry out. Another arm drags him into the darkness, and a wave of fear keeps Xisuma from trying to escape. A warm, low voice growls in his ear, full of menace. “You had your chance, now let the big kids play.”

“Tris, we’re just supposed to stop the guard, not-” A second, similar voice fractures through the darkness, and Xisuma notices a lock of pink hair, bright against the stone wall.

“I’m Nightshade!” The one holding Xisuma snaps, loosening his grip on him. “Do you want half the city to know who we are?”

Xisuma manages to wriggle free, and instead the twin faces wrestle each other into the water. Tackling and pulling hair, calling each other names that grow louder and louder. Loud enough for the other hermits to find them.

Stress realizes who she’s looking at first. “King Sor?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” one of the two growls, his blue scarf soaked.

“The king?” Tango splutters, snapping his fingers. A flame appears in his hand, and he raises it higher. Sure enough, wrestling in the muck and mud of the swampwater was the King of Lairyon and his twin brother. Yin and yang, dark and light. Their tan skin and rainbow hair- though the king’s much brighter- was instantly recognizable, even if the all white and black suits weren’t enough.

Grand Advisor Tris, currently holding King Sor in a headlock, glares at the hermits. “Do you mind?”

“We are in the middle of something.” Sor adds, looking at their audience as he grabs hold of Tris’s fingers and yanks.

“What are you-” Xisuma starts, confusion clouding his prerogative. Why is the Twin King, monarch of Lairyon, in the canals beneath his own city, tackling his brother and arguing over codenames? Xisuma shakes his head, trying to avoid the fact that he’s standing in front of the king. “Where did he go? My brother?”

“Where’s Doc?” BDubs adds, bouncing from foot to foot. They have to find their friend. Is he still alive? What do the kings want with a criminal? Why all this, when King Sor has more power than even Dolios?

“Three lefts then a right, there’s a staircase carved into the wall. It’ll take you to-” Sor has gained the upper hand, sitting on top of Tris, but the advisor isn’t afraid to kick his brother into silence.

“You are, by far, the worst spy ever.” Tris hisses, but the hermits leave the twins to their squabble in the sewer. Following Sor’s directions, they wind through the secret caves, Tango, Grian, Ren, and Iskall illuminating the darkness. Jevin can’t help but think about when they first began this journey, way back in Gildara. How they wandered dark, wet caves like this. Only to become enraptured into something so much bigger than they could ever have known.

But rather than a corrupted crystal at the end of this dive, they find the carved steps Sor had mentioned.

They also find the trail of blood up the rough hewn stairs. Every step up is slick with the ochre, a different size and shape from the one before. At the top of the stairs, a hatch remains closed. Xisuma presses up against the metal hatch, but finds it too heavy to lift. Looking up, he notices a symbol burnt into the metal.

Ex still uses their shared mark. Even after their estrangement, the swirl and the star remain easily visible. Not like how Xisuma scratched it off everything he owned. “It’s blocked. Stress?”

“Not a problem, dearie.” The ice mage squeezes her small, limber body between Xisuma and TFC, rolling up her sleeves. Without even breaking a sweat, she forces the hatch open. Light blinds them for a second time, though this much softer than before. Lamplight, enough to illuminate the wooden building, but still soft enough to cast shadow. A chest full of books has been tossed aside, the rug covering the hidden hatch flipped over.

The hermits crawl out, like an army of ants from the seams in the wood, filling the small bookstore. Ex’s arrival surprises no one, and neither does the twenty something mages in his bookshop. The twin brother of Xisuma looks up, purple eyes meeting the hermits. A lock of pure white hair covers over one eye, and the red fabric of the cloak covers Ex from the nose down. But even with his face covered, the hermits can see the discontent in his expression.

“He’s in the back. I’d… I’d be prepared.” Ex’s voice remains low and tempered, a bit deeper than Xisuma’s own. He turns away, running fingers across the shelves of books around him, before pulling free an encyclopedia of medicines.

Scar doesn’t wait, bursting through the curtain into Ex’s living quarters. He follows the trail of ash and blood, until he stops dead. The other hermits crowd in behind him, desperate to see their friend. For a week, he’s been in jail. Just being able to be in the same room was a blessing.

Doc was rested on a cot, bandages covering his legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Blackened skin beneath white gauze. He lays still, eyes closed, clothes in burnt tatters. For a minute, everyone holds their breath, waiting to see Doc breathe his own. When a shallow rise of his chest, followed by whisper of an exhale, escapes from the puppeteer, relief floods the hermits.

Doc is alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. Scar grabs Grian, yanking him to the front and shoving him into the room. “Fix him!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Grian may be rivals with Doc, but they’re still friends. Family. He walks across the silent room, each step a loud creak through the wooden building. The hermits follow in after, a concave audience watching, hoping for a miracle.

Grian’s eyes begin to glow, and another set of wings appear from his back, and another. A halo rings above Grian’s blond hair, sharp shafts of light piercing the air around him. The archangel kneels beside Doc, lost in the overwhelming power of his magic. A mere pass of his hand over the unconscious criminal begins to heal him. An angelic miracle, Grian simply brushes a wing, and it eases the blackened burns across their friend.

Doc’s breathing deepens, though he doesn’t wake. Brought back from the brink, from the precipice of death. Mumbo carefully sidles up beside Grian, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Grian, you can let go of your aura.”

The soothing voice does the trick, as light fades and wings disappear. Grian’s exhausted but forces the glow and sleep from his eyes to see his success. Doc was alive. Doc was stable.

Doc was safe, with his family again.

Ex appears in the doorway, hands full of books, potions, herbs, and crystals. But when he sees his patient, no longer bleeding out and struggling to hang on for dear life. He looks at Doc, then Grian, then Xisuma. Dropping his armful of supplies, he waves his hand. “You really have one of everything, don’t you?”

Xisuma takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken a word to Ex in years. What does he say, after so long? What does he tell him, or yell at him, or cry to him? But only one word manages to escape from X’s lips, through his mask. “Thanks.”

The word surprises both twins, blinking back in surprise. Ex’s lips press into a thin line, and he turns his head away. A white ponytail of hair cascades over his shoulder. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you, brother.”

“Xisuma, this is your brother?” Keralis questions. They were almost identical twins, in fact. From the structure of their face, the intensity in their eyes. The only difference between the two was Ex’s snow white hair. Hell, they even had them both in ponytails.

“If he still considers me a brother.” Ex snips, picking up the mess on the floor and carefully placing the books in a stack.

“I thought you said getting into things would only lead to trouble.” Xisuma looks down at his friend, then to Ex.

“And by the looks of it, I was right.”

“But you saved Doc. You used your magic in front of half the city, to save him from burning at the stake.” Xisuma shakes his head, still in disbelief. “Why?”

Ex stops moving, going silent. His shoulder tense forward, until his head drops. “Because he means so much to you. You may not consider me a brother, but I still care about you. Whether or not this disaster could have been avoided, we’re all in on it now.”

“We?” Cub picks up on Ex’s words, raising an eyebrow. Of course, there were the royals, but he also remembers the water magic appearing from nowhere, the cactus growing from the woodwork, the black wings in the smoke.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you guys have been this lucky the whole time? That it was only you idiots taking on the magistrate?”

He turns, walking out of the room. Assuming the hermits will follow. He assumed correctly. Only a few stay behind to keep watch over Doc, the others squeezing through the aged wooden shop, up the rickety stairs and into a dining room.

They aren’t alone. Inside, three people are sitting. One with short brown hair, cropped to the side and laying on the top of the table, earthy colored clothes and scarves wrapped around her. Sitting crosslegged in the seat is a small kipling, rocking in place with curious eyes as he looks upon the large group entering into Ex’s study. Finned ears flick against black and orange locks, a slight glow appearing under the kipling’s clothes in the dark room. And in the corner, perched on the flat booth’s backrest, a blonde mane drapes around a serious face, and a pair of jet black wings rustle against the wooden walls.

The last faces they expected to see were those of the Wanderers.

“Red? Ecto?” Zedaph tips his head to the side, surprised. The last time they saw the three of them, it was before the labyrinth challenge. When the hermits celebrated with Team Crafted, they had already left. Disappeared just as fast as they appeared. And now, they’ve reappeared. Sitting in the middle of Ex’s kitchen, sipping on tea. As comfortable there as they were in that ratty old inn. ‘How do you guys know Xisuma’s brother?”

“It was you three who rescued Doc.” Scar whispers, his voice soft and almost reverent. Water, desert, and dragon.

“Ex approached us while you and Team Crafted were within the labyrinth. He told us about things we already had suspicion of, but no connected dots.” Avon tips her head back, looking down her nose at the hermits. “We decided the best way we could help Lairyon was to cause as much nuisance to the magistrate as possible, as well as handle certain missions.”

“This entire time, you were helping us?” Xisuma turns, looking at his brother. They’re the exact same height, purple eyes locked in some years long argument.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you idiots did that all on your own? But it wasn’t just the wanderers that have been helping. Team Crafted has had their hand in this underground rebellion as well. Turns out, they make a lot of trouble all over the place for the arcane guard to deal with, as well as encourage people to tell their stories and speak out against the magistrate.”

“But then that leaves…” Mumbo trails off, and he turns around at the sound of bickering behind them. Sure enough, the twin rulers are still arguing over their codenames. Mumbo bows, his hands shaking as he remembers all the rules he was taught when in presence of the king.

King Sor presses one hand over his twin’s mouth to shut him up, and uses the other to wave off Mumbo’s bow. “Please, there’s no-” Sor’s interrupted when Tris retaliates, licking his hand. The king curses, rubbing the spit on his white outfit. “You’re disgusting, brother.”

“Go on, finish the story. Don’t forget to tell them who’s idea it was to reach out to the mysterious white haired man with connections to Eremita.” Tris scoots in beside Red, and Ecto pours tea for the royal advisor.

“It was Tris’s idea to contact Ex. I honestly don’t know how he found out about him, but he’s been the conductor of it all. We help fund in any way we can, and he does the research before sending the wanderers and Team Crafted to play support roles.” King Sor doesn’t look like the man the hermits are used to seeing. The king, the ruler of Lairyon. He’s thriving with people, just another person, another friend.

“But...you’re the king. Why can’t you just depose of Dolios?” Beef questions, the confusion in his voice matched by all of the hermits. Only Ex and the wanderers act as if this was evident.

They expected Sor to answer, being the king, but with a loud crash of a metal teacup against the wooden table, all attention is turned to Tris. “That monster, that....bastard has been using us all against Sor. Especially me.” Tris grits his teeth hard, jaw tight and set. “You’re too damn soft, Sor.”

“Soft?! Tris, he was going to kill you!” Sor gasps, tears beginning to streak from teal eyes, across tanned cheeks. His breath hiccups and catches in his throat. “Dolios made sure he had control over everything, including me. In order to do that, he… he tortured Tris. My brother. Threatened both our families. Hurt our closest friends in the royal guard. Sometimes… I had no choice but to let it happen. The things he would have done to the kingdom were so much worse but...at what cost? Did I make the right decision, letting him do that to my own brother?”

Sor’s knees fall out from under him, and in the aged wooden floor of a bookstore, the King of Lairyon is brought to kneel. Tears fall, all he’s been forced to endure breaking down. And the hermits, despite hardly knowing King Sor, understand and sympathize with him all the same. His family is at risk, the same way their own is. Dolios will stop at nothing to tear both families apart, all for his gain and rise to power.

Red clambers over Tris’s lap, breaking every taboo and rite to approach the king. She runs over, and hugs the king tight and close. A warm hug, like a mother’s embrace, just enough to calm down the monarch. Such a young man, forced to make so many horrible decisions. After a moment, the king recollects himself. Through puffy, tearstained eyes, he looks to the hermits. “Lairyon needs a hero. There are no chosen ones, there is no prophecy. No knights in shining armor, no kings and our awesome power. This time, the heroes need to be made. And you, the Order of Hermits, were the brave souls to choose to be heroes.”

“Dolios is using his darkness to gain power. After what you dealt with, we were sure you’d give up.” Tris adds, standing and placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Now, the scars on the royal advisor’s body are clear as day. “But you really are the heroes that will bring back the Light of Lairyon.”

Silence falls over the room. The hermits, heroes? Just for wanting to help, to do what no one else knew to do? They were caught up in all of this, and multiple times death waited to claim them- if Dolios had his way. They weren’t heroes, just people who chose to fight back. Who chose to make the stand.

“Dark magic isn’t new.” Ex breaks the silence, hefting a massive, ancient book onto the table. The wood rocks, dumping Avon off it and into Ecto’s lap. “There have been insurgences all throughout history, though the past thousand years have been relatively quiet. Unfortunately about that, almost all information how the dark magic was defeated has been… lost to time. To make matters worse, no reported insurgence has ever been so prolific as this time around.”

“Alright, how does this help with anything?” Xisuma rolls his eyes. His brother always has such a flair for the dramatics, always getting way too deep into history and his books. Next to the massive tome that Ex is flipping through, Avon stops pestering Ecto. She goes still, even when the desert wizard dumps her onto the floor. A look of fear spreads from her eyes, rippling like a drop of water across a lake.

“Well, if this happened before with the ancient ones, then it’s likely the answer may lie with the history of Lairyon itself. Perhaps if you-” Ex is interrupted when a massive black pair of wings extends, one smacking him in the face.

“The spirit dragons are in danger.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard ex #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard bdubs #wizard etho #grianmc #evil xisuma #docm77 #gtwscar #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab

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thelionbyname · 3 years

Text

The Pole, The American And The Four Brits (Part Five)

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood.

(When reading this, please remember that these are only loosely based on real life and are not in any way meant to offend or embarrass anyone. This is fictional. Anyway, hope you like it!)

While Keralis, False and Grian head over to where they hope to find Mumbo, Tango is almost done making Xisuma a tourniquet.

“False gave me a recap, but she didn’t mention how I got back to life. Who revived me?” He asks.

“I think False knew that you’d get over-the-top grateful so she didn’t say anything. It was Keralis. You know how modest he is. He wouldn’t handle great gratitude well,” Xisuma reveals.

“Keralis? I owe him my life! Of course I’d have to shower him with gratitude. There we go,” he adds, finishing the tourniquet.

“Thanks. My leg feels a lot better. You are good at this!” Xisuma tells him.

“I’m good at everything!” Tango jokes.

“Except modesty, it seems,” Xisuma laughs back. They sit for a while, smiling, but waiting becomes too much for them. “Should we go check on the rest?” Xisuma suggests.

“Yes. But it was your idea, okay?” says Tango, glad he hadn’t been the one to ask.

“Alright. Can you stand up?” Xisuma asks him cautiously.

“Can you?” Tango answers.

“How about we try together. On three. One, two, three!” Xisuma and Tango jump to their feet, wobble, and fall forward to lean on each other.

“Um… we can each support the other,” Tango says in an attempt to prove they are up for this. Still grasping each other tightly, they slowly edge their way to where False and Keralis descended.

“How exactly do we climb down?” Xisuma asks.

“Can you sit down for a sec? I think I can walk on my own as long as I don’t make any sudden movements,” Tango assures Xisuma. Right before he coughs up blood. Xisuma looks at it in horror, and then at Tango in disbelief. “I’m fine, I promise! Sit down”. Tango forces Xisuma back down and spreads out his own arms for balance. “See? All good. I’ll go get a ladder or something”.

Tango walks back to HQ and somehow manages to lower himself down. Once out of Xisuma’s line of sight, he coughs up more blood. “Lovely,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looks around the room, the lights still on, and quickly spots a long, thick rope. “Perfect”. He takes the rope back to Xisuma, having some difficulty hoisting himself out of the trapdoor, and trying not to cough up more blood.

“Here we go. I can lower you down the side and climb down after you,” he explains.

“I’m not sure I trust you to hold me in your weakened state,” Xisuma objects.

“I told you, I’m fine. Let’s get a move on, the others may need our help,” Tango urges.

While Xisuma and Tango try to decide the best course of action, Grian and the others arrive at the spot where Mumbo is guarding Malus’ allies. When he sees his friends, Mumbo jumps up to greet them. His moustache moves as he talks. “There you are! Is everything okay? Where are Xisuma and Tango?” he quickly asks.

“Calm down. Everyone is fine. Tango died, but he’s back,” False assures him.

“Tango died? How did he come back?” Mumbo’s questions become ever more numerous.

But before False can answer, Grian mumbles “Of course he gets to know Tango’s alive”.

False’s bitterness towards Grian melts away. “Grian, I’m really sorry about that. I just wanted to teach you a lesson, but what I did was way too harsh. Can you forgive me?”.

Grian is taken aback by her sudden gentleness, but says, “Of course I forgive you. And I shouldn't have fallen asleep. Can you forgive me for that?”.

“Yes. You couldn’t help it”. And they move in for a hug.

The captives that are tied to trees all around them have been watching the entire exchange, and what they saw melts their hearts. “You two are so sweet. Are you dating?” one of them asks.

False and Grian, still hugging, quickly pull apart, both blushing. “No!” they shout a little too fast.

Mumbo and Keralis share a look. False tries to divert the attention to the hostages by asking what they should do with them. “I mean, we can’t just leave them here,” she says.

Everyone agrees, and Keralis says “We could set them free, they have no reason to harm us now that Malus is dead”.

Mumbo and Grian both ask “Who is Malus?”.

“Right. We should probably explain what happened on the roof,” False realises. So she explains everything, with a little help from Keralis. When they’re done, Mumbo and Grian just gape at them, mouths open.

“So Keralis saved both you and Tango. Damn,” Grian says to False. He looks at Keralis in admiration.

“It’s no big deal, really. You all would’ve done the same for any one of us,” Keralis responds modestly.

“But we probably wouldn’t have succeeded in doing so twice like you did,” Mumbo insists, determined that Keralis gets credit for his heroism. Keralis begins to deny it, but breaks off when he hears rustling behind him. He wheels around and draws his sword, only to face Tango.

“Whoa! Easy with the blade Keralis! You nearly scathed this beautiful face,” he says, gesturing to his perfect jawline.

Xisuma now also comes crashing through the trees, if a little less stealthily than Tango. “What did we miss?” he asks in his smooth British accent. He leans against a tree not harboring a hostage to take his weight off his injured leg. The cool night air blows softly through his dark brown mane, and the moonlight shines right on his ocean blue eyes. Those beautiful eyes gaze questioningly at everyone.

“Nothing much, we got Mumbo and Grian caught up, but they haven’t yet explained how they managed to kidnap all these people,” Keralis answers. He turns back towards Grian and Mumbo expectantly.

“Um… Wow, putting us on the spot there Keralis!” Grian says nervously. “It’s not nearly as exciting or heroic as your story, it’ll be boring”.

“No, tell us. It could be important,” Xisuma says.

So Mumbo and Grian talk about everything that happened from the point where False said she went to check on the others. They say that when False didn’t come back, they assumed the worst and set the plan into action. They headed over to the library, which is only a short walk away from where they were, and quickly came across Malus’ allies.

“Mumbo spotted the first one, and he snuck up on her and captured her,” Grian says appraisingly.

“But once we caught one we needed a place to hide them so they couldn’t alert the others,” Mumbo continues. “So we tied them up here while I guarded them”. They then speak of how Grian successfully captured each of the others, one by one, up until the final man.

“You saw what happened then,” says Grian, slightly embarrassed.

“We only saw you get slammed to the ground. What happened after?” Keralis inquires.

“He knocked me out and probably ran for it,” Grian replies.

“But what was Mumbo doing during all this?” False wonders aloud.

“I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing,” Mumbo says, a little indignantly. “I was guarding the hostages, and whenever Grian brought over a new one, I tied them up. After a while Grian stopped coming by, and I was about to go look for him when you all showed up”.

“Alright. But you’re wrong about one thing. You weren’t doing what you were supposed to be doing. You were supposed to be at HQ,” False points out.

“It’s a good thing we weren’t there though, or who would have saved you?” Mumbo says defensively, but with a hint of a smile shining underneath his moustache.

“We still don’t know what to do with these hostages,” False realises, effectively changing the subject.

“I say we go with your idea of just releasing them, Keralis. The six of us can easily overcome them”. Grian says. His mouth has become a little dry from the long explanation.

“All right with me. All in favor?” Xisuma chimes in.

Everyone raises their hands, though some do so reluctantly. When everyone has decided, they take action. They go about releasing the hostages, one by one, cutting away the ropes that bind them. Most are grateful for the release, and peacefully walk away from their kidnappers. But some shoot dirty looks, and two of them, who look like they could be brother and sister, jump at Grian and Mumbo, and attempt to strangle them before Tango and Keralis pull them apart. After this, the siblings wrestle their way out of their captives’ grasps and disappear between the trees. Grian and Mumbo get up off the ground where they were forced down by their would-be assassins and rub their throats, both grimacing.

Once all the hostages have been released, everyone heads back to the library. Arriving at the foot of the building, Xisuma tells the others there’s really no point trying to get him back up there. “I think we’ve all had enough action for today, right? There’s nothing urgent up there, let’s just go home”.

“Actually,” False says, “I think I remember Grian mentioning a game night? How about we continue that, together?”

“Good idea! All the games are in Mumbo’s apartment, and that’s very close. What do you think Mumbo?” Grian asks excitedly.

Mumbo’s moustache twitches as he smiles. “Sure, why not? Although it’ll be more like a game morning, have you seen the time?” He shows everyone his watch, which is indicating that it’s quarter to four.

“Oof. Getting… Early? Perhaps we should all get some sleep, we can have a game night later today,” Xisuma says upon seeing the time.

The rest all suddenly realise how exhausted they are from the days activities. Some yawn, and they all nod. So everyone finds their way home, whether it be by walking or otherwise, and each of them barely make it to their beds before collapsing on them.

Only Xisuma finds himself wide awake. He has suddenly had a wave of inspiration. He goes about gathering certain things and then gets to work. Just as the first rays of sunlight appear on the horizon, he inhales deeply, satisfied with the result. He presses a button on a device, and his own voice greets him. “Hello my friends. This is for Tango, who wanted me to make one of these”. And his voice tells a tale, a tale of six spies, who were attacked by a creepy man with a long scar on his right cheek…

The End...

#Mumbo Jumbo #Tango tek #Tangotek #Grian #Xisuma #Xisumavoid #Falsesymmetry #Keralis #Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft fanfiction

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 12 | Merry Christmas Darling

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This chapter: The time has come for Tamra to go home, where do they go from here?

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

The final days of Tamra’s stay flew by and before Tom realized what was happening, he was standing in front of the Departures at Heathrow.

“Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Easy for the famous movie actor to say. I have a job to get back to you. Obligations.”

Tom wrapped her into his arms. “Quit. Come and live with me.” He kissed her forehead.

“You would hate me.”

“Never. I would never hate you.” He kissed her temple. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “I will miss you and I can’t sleep without you here.” He now kissed her nose. “Do you want to be the reason I look tired and old in photos?” He pecked her lips. “What will Luke say?” He kissed her deeply.

“Luke would say you’re full of shit and I would agree with him.”

“Traitor.” Tom said with a pout.

“I have to go. See you in three weeks?”

“Three weeks. I will be the guy running into your shoulder at the arrivals gate.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“But dear, I am a man of action.” He kissed a final time before Tamra left through the doors for her flight. Tom only let a single tear fall before returning home.

Next Christmas

The better part of the next year, Tom and Tamra spent on planes and Facetime calls. Tom insisted Luke book trips to the State as often as he could, leaving plenty of time for trips to Florida. Tamra surprised Tom in June with the news Victoria and Albert’s Museum offered her a position as an adjunct curator. It was a step down from her current position, but the chance to be together in the same city made it worth it.

Tom insisted she move in with him, over her protests that it would create contempt in the relationship. He whined about needing her near and after weeks of protesting, she capitulated. Now it was December and Tom stood in the living room pulling the lights out of a box while Tamra sat by watching with a bemused smile on her face at the mess.

“Darling, can you help me with the lights?” Tom asked as he held up the tangle of lights.

Tamra looked up from her book and rose with a huff. “Honestly, Thomas. Can you follow instructions? I told you what to do before I left last year.”

“Which I promptly forgot when I was struck with grief at my girlfriend up and leaving me.”

“To return to my job. Sit.” Tamra sat on the floor. She weaved the lights in and out, creating a single length.

“Abandoned me, really. It wrecked me for weeks.”

“Until you came to visit me in Florida.”

“Details.”

Tamra stood and began wrapping the tree. “Important details, twat. Now help.” Tamra handed him the end of the lights.

“Has Luke been teaching you new curse words? I don’t like the idea of the two of you spending so much time together. It’s bad for my health.”

“Perhaps. Who’s going to stop me? You and what army?” They wrapped the tree in record time.

Tom pulled her to his side of the tree, pressing her against his hips. “Oh, I have an army.”

Tamra giggled as he nipped at her neck. “Ornaments, Tom.” She pushed the box towards him with her foot.

“Boo. You steal all my fun.”

“You can have your fun after we decorate the tree.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Which is why…” Tom flipped the lid off with a flair. “… I do it. Here.” he handed her the first ornament.

Tom and Tamra hung each ornament, Tamra directing where to hang each one.

“I know. I know. Balance.” Tom quipped as he moved another ornament what he thought to be millimeters.

“Oh so you can listen to me.” Tamra snarked as she dug through the box.

“When it suits me.” Tom snapped back. “What are you looking for?”

“My blue glass ornament.”

“It’s not in there?” Tom asked in mock shock. “Dig deeper, I am certain I put it in there last year.”

Tamra leaned over to dig deep into the box. Tom took off down towards the bedroom without her noticing, his socked feet padding against the floor as he ran. He returned with the ornament in his hand, his breath only slightly labored.

“It’s not in here, Tom—” he held the ornament out to her with a smile. Tamra snatched it away. “Why did you have it?”

“Must have rolled away.” He commented. He rocked back and forth on his feet, twisting his fingers in his grip. She noticed his nervous gestures but said nothing.

Tamra examined the ornament and noticed a gold band running around the middle. “This isn’t my ornament, Tom. Mine was plain.” She offered the ornament back.

Tom smiled as he took the ornament. “It is your ornament, I contacted the original artist this year and had her make a small modification.”

He twisted the ornament in his hands, taking care not to drop it.

“Why on earth would you have them make a modification?”

“So I could do this.”

Tom lowered down to the floor on one knee. He popped the clasp on the gold band to reveal a secret compartment. Inside sat a simple silver band with a single brilliant cut diamond.

Tamra’s hands trembled as she covered her mouth. Her eyes crinkled as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“I want to share the rest of my days with you and only you. I love you and I am never making the mistake of letting you go ever again. Marry me?”

“Ye… yes!” Tamra choked out as she pulled Tom to his feet and kissed him through happy tears. He continued to peck at her lips, tears filling his own eyes. With trembling fingers on both their parts, Tom slipped the ring onto Tamra’s finger.

“I have a surprise for you too.” Tamra took off to the bedroom and came back with a small gift bag.

“It’s not even Christmas, darling.” Tom look at her with a confused face, brows worried as he inspected the small bag.

“Well, this present shouldn’t wait until Christmas.” Tamra’s eyes twinkled. “Unless… you want to wait.” She reached for the bag but Tom raised it out of reach.

“That’s unnecessary.” Tom pulled out the first item in the bag.

“A Christmas ornament. My, your Grinch sized heart has grown in a year.” He kissed her cheek.

“It’s not just any Christmas ornament.” Tamra took Tom’s hand and turned the bauble to reveal writing on the other side.

Baby’s First Christmas

Tom’s brows raised and his lips pulled into a thin line. “Um… thank you. I’m sure we get use of this one day.” he feigned excitement.

“Well… there is one other thing in the bag. Here let me hold this.” She took the ornament from his hand and Tom dug back into the bag.

He pulled out a small object. Tom turned it over in his hands several times, his hands trembling more and more with each turn.

“When did you find out?” his voice filled with tears.

“I took the test a few days ago. I have an appointment scheduled at the first of the year.”

“I’m going to be a father?!”

“Yes, you are.”

Both their eyes glistened with tears. They hugged and kissed before hanging the ornaments on the tree. They settled onto the couch, with Bobby at their feet. Tom gave his ears a scratch.

“Ready to have a little one around here, Bobby?” Tom asked. Bobby barked. “The man of the house approves.”

“Both of the men of the house approve.” Tamra quipped back.

They talked of names and furniture and plans for the rest of the night, before snuggling onto blankets under the couch, Tom spooning behind Tamra, hands firmly placed on her belly. Tom turned on Love Actually.

“Tom…” Tamra asked as she drifted off to sleep.

“Yes, my love.” Tom cooed back.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

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the-hermitcraft-chronicles · 4 years

Note

hermit challenges gang (all of them) failing to initiate scar? 🌺

Ship: None

Warnings: Dumbasses. All of them.

Au: None

Title: Hermit Challenge Initiation.... yayyy...

“Hey Mumbo? How come Scar is the only one of the jungle group who isn’t initiated?”

That question from Iskall started this whole thing. Mumbo instantly called over Stress and Grian to the Hermit Challenge Area, a feral grin on his face. Once the two landed he started to talk.

“So! Fellow Hermit Challengers! How would you all like to play a game?” He asked, Grian raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“A… Game?”

“What is this, Saw?” Iskall asked with a laugh. Mumbo shook his head.

“Nonono!! This game will be called the uh…. Scar Initiation game!” Mumbo nodded in confirmation, “We’re all going to try and get Scar to step foot in the hermit challenges area! First to do so will win a prize!” Mumbo grinned, putting his hands on his hips. Grian’s eyes sparked with pure chaos, and a feral grin matching Mumbo’s spread on his face. It sent a shiver down Iskall’s back.

“What’s the prize?”

“One ‘get out oa a challenge free’ card. To use whenever you want. However you want.” Mumbo said, holding up a small piece of paper with a similar label. The group exchanged a glance. “And it won’t expire.” He added, and they all smiled.

“Its that simple?? Get Scar initiated and thats it?” Stress asked.

“Yep! Only rule is, You cannot downright ask him.” Mumbo put the piece of paper back into his inventory. “And, now that i think of it. We need a time frame. Soo…. Does four days sound okay with everyone?? One day for each of us.”

Day one: Iskall

Iskall had been perched up on top of a tree, watching Scar dig out the large area he had plotted out for his actual mega base. He had on the mask of his own head, his elytra, and a few differently named golden carrots in his inventory. He jumped down, and silently made it rain golden carrots over the oblivious man before landing on the ground and running off to hide again.

Scar gasped as golden carrots rained down from the sky. “Oh I was just getting hungry!! Thank you Iskall man!” Scar yelled, grabbing the carrots and eating them without looking at how they were named.

Day two: Grian

Grian had carefully placed a book and quill at Scar’s base, making sure it was in a spot of which Scar would see it. He was crouched down, hiding in plain sight as he watched Scar build. He grinned widely, confident in his plan. He literally just wrote down the coordinates of the Hermit Challenges area, and a step by step guide on what to do. He couldn’t help the excited giggle that left him as Scar walked up to the lectern, reading through the book. Grian took off towards the H.C.A, as he will now call it.

Scar hummed happily as he flipped through the book, yelping when he heard rockets going off. He watched Grian fly through the air and laughed, figuring he was supposed to follow him. He put on his elytra, grabbed the book, and started flying.

He kept looking back too the coordinates after he lost Grian, flying aimlessly with no clue where he was supposed to be heading too.

Goodtimeswithscar: Guys someone help me im lost :(((

Day Three: Mumbo

Mumbo was grinning widely. Surely Scar wouldn’t miss this!! He never said he couldn’t reuse an old trick! He dive bombed in front of Scar, yelling, “HERMIT CHALLENGE INITIATIOOOONNNN!!!” Before slamming onto the ground.

He didn’t die.

Mumbo slowly looked up, his face reddening as he watched Scar laugh hysterically. Needless to say he flew away without a piece of his pride.

Day Four: Stress

Stress hummed happily, walking right up to Scar. “Heey Scar!” She chirped. The building man turned to look at the small women.

“Hey Stress! What’s up?” Scar asked. Stress pulled out a little peice of paper and waved it around.

“I need some terraforming help.” She smiled nervously. “I have a idea of what and where I need it, buuut with the new update theres a structure in the way thats… difficult to defuse.” Stress said, feeling bad for lying. Scar nodded with a smile.

“Sure! I’ll be happy to help!” He said, “But I wasn’t aware the new update had new overworld structures!” He beamed, “Where is it?” He asked, and Stress grinned.

“Follow me!” She chirped, starting to fly towards the HCA, and giggling as Scar flew behind her.

“Woah! This place is cool lookin!!” Scar said, looking around.

“Right? Well uh.. I don’t think i’m qualified to diffuse this place, could you do it for me if I tell you how too?”

“Oh uh… sure??” Scar said, “But I’m no Redstoner.”

“Oh thats not needed! This was uuuh… Set up by Builder! Yea! And um… made for you?” She said, her tone unsure. But Scar didn’t seem to notice.

“Ohh!!! He made something for me!! How sweet!!” Scar said, looking around. “Are you sure you wanna get rid of it then? I can let you neighbor with me!”

“Um, ah, I got his permission??” She said, and Scar nodded.

“Okay! Show me what to do!” He beamed, and Stress started to explain the initiation ritual. Just as Scar got to the biscuit eating he paused.

“You mean cookie?” He asked.

“What? No. Its a ritual biscuit-”

“hA! I KNEW YOU WERE TRYING TO GET ME TO DO SOMETHING!” Scar grinned, putting the cookie back in the chest. “What even is this for I-” He was cut off.

“UuuhIgottagobye-!” Stress said, before flying off quickly.

Day five: Results

“How. How did the four of us not initiate him?” Mumbo groaned, sitting down at the HCA and fanning himself.

“He ATE my initiation carrots!” Iskall whined.

“He got lost with basic coordinates!” Grian pouted, hiding behind Iskall to stay in the shade.

“I was wearing my armor…” Mumbo admitted.

“And he figured me out right before it was complete.” Stress pouted, throwing herself over Iskall’s lap.

“You wanted to initiate me to what, exactly?” The four screamed as Scar emerged from the bushes. “Also who built this cause its suuper nice looking!” He beamed.

#Hermitcraft #Goodtimeswithscar #Scar #Grian #Mumbo #Iskall #Stress #Iskall85 #Stressmonster101 #Hermit challenges #Hermit challenges initiation #Writing #minecraft fanfiction

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

Note

Can you do something for the bad batch, where the bad batch finds the reader crying, and when they ask her what’s wrong, the reader tells them that her mother just passed away? The bad batch tries to comfort the reader the best they can. The reader and the bad batch attends her mother’s wake, funeral, and burial. My grandfather just passed away a few hours ago from old age, and I’m really shattered, So I wanted to request something from you to make me feel better.

Hi, i hope you’re doing okay, i just want to express my deepest condolences and to hope that somehow I can help.

The ship felt cold, really cold, maybe it was you that was cold. Or maybe it was the universe itself. Why did you leave? If you had known, that traveling with the Bad Batch, trying to do some good in the galaxy would lead to you on the floor hunched over the holo recording of a family member relaying your mother's death. You never would’ve stepped foot on this ship.

Your breath picks up before your mind even has a chance to come to terms with what it’s been told. You were told once that people who cry are people who’ve been happy, and the people we miss the most are the ones who loved us just as much. But maker it hurts, every cell aches for something it can’t have.

When the tears start they don’t stop, there are a lot of them. And it's not long before you’re hyperventilating.

It’s Hunter that knows something is wrong. He can hear you crying from your barracks, and he knows that something must be terribly wrong.

“Tech, get Cross and Wrecker up here stat. Something’s wrong.” He says, but does not elaborate until his vod appears through the doors to the main room.

“Crying?” Wrecker asks when Hunter tells them.

“More like sobbing.” Hunter admits, Embarrassed, he doesn't know how to help you. Slowly Wrecker stands up, heading towards the door to your space. Carefully knocking in the same old secret pattern him and you came up with, way back when. He creeps into your room to find you gasping for air on the floor. Head buried into a pillow to muffle your cries, immediately Wrecker scoops you into his arms, all encompassing, large figure cradling your own.

“What happened Mesh’la?” It’s Tech's soft voice that you hear. And you just shake your head, you can't say it is allowed. Taking it outside of your mind and into reality is just something you cannot do.

“Tell us what you need.” Crosshair presses, handing you his own hand for you to grasp onto and feel. Hunter appears with a cup of the special tea that he uses for when his senses overwhelm him. And when you run out of tears and sob only air, you tell them the news.

“Sweetheart…” Hunter whispers, looking just as pained as you feel. And the worst of it all, is that they know there's nothing they can do to ease the pain. They cannot bring her back, but at least you have them for support.

They spend days curled up with you, only forcing you to eat and shower, one day Wrecker carries you outside wrapped in blankets for fresh air. This becomes your strange schedule as you jump from planet to planet in order to get home.

But it’s not really home anymore is it? The thing that defined its importance to your heart is now missing. Your family gathers in the house you used to live in, some of them wonder who the men with you are, but no one says anything. It’s Crosshair who knows when things become too much, and he leads you away from all the commotion and people. Rubbing the knots out of your shoulders and dabbing at the tears in your eyes.

“It’s okay love, just let it out.” So you do, you confess to him how angry you are at the maker for taking her from you, how much you hate everything that reminds you of your mother because everytime you see something that does, your heart rips itself apart again.

“She loved you very much. Very, very much.” Crosshair tells you, “the things that remind you of her just show how wonderful her life really was, and how close the two of you will always be. No matter what.”

Tech keeps very close tabs on you, but from a distance, he appears when you need something. Sometimes even before you know you need it. He reads you copies of books on the nights you can’t sleep and helps you organise all the mumbo-jumbo for the funeral itself.

“We are going to get through this time of pain.” He says. Because he knows that you will always miss her, threes no getting over it or moving past this. But maybe there's a space where it’ll hurt less, and remember her with a smile without as many tears.

Wrecker serves as a physical barrier from the outside world, when someone tries to speak with you or console you when you can’t deal with anything anymore, he sweeps you away and hides you away where the galaxy can’t get you anymore.

“Do whatever you need.” He says, and if you shout, he lets you shout. If you want to sob uncontrollably he sits through that with you. But most of the time he’s just your living breathing anxiety blanket.

Hunter always approaches you with a cup of tea, or warm milk. He seems to know the remedy for everything in terms of food. When your throat is hoarse from crying he’s there with honey and when you want to drink yourself away, he’s there with other alternatives.

It’s him you cling to at the funeral. His black suit stained from your makeup and tears, strong muscles manage to keep the shaking at bay, and his calming voice whispers to you the whole time.

The Bad batch breaks with you in order to help put you back together. It takes a long time, a long, long time, and there are still some days where moving is so hard you just can’t do it. But when you recall her every smile, every laugh and every moment that was so dear to you, you know those are the moments she held in her heart as well. And that love and those memories are what connect you two, even if you’re here, and she’s somewhere you can't quite reach yet.

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vitamx · 4 years

Text

the iron door: chapter 1

[ Also read on AO3! ]

---

grian had made quite the first impression when he had entered the hermitcraft server.

carrying a body bag that clanked whenever it moved in the slightest- some hermits even said it moved by itself- it was obvious as to why that was.

when xisuma had asked, he had simply grinned and laughed, saying it was an incomplete project he couldn't possibly leave behind.

what kind of project? a redstone one.

so that bag is filled with redstone parts? not exactly.

then what is in the bag? i told you- an incomplete project. nothing dangerous, don't worry...

there might have been a day or two of suspicion, but the minute that body bag disappeared somewhere unknown, no one really seemed to question it.

especially not when he had started a chain of events that led to a chaotic game of tag, a pickle shop with no exit, and after that came prank after prank after prank... and after that, there was the prank war, and the architechs, and sahara, and the build-off...

needless to say, with such a chaotic server, it was easy to forget something as minuscule as a large bag with, most likely, iron and redstone parts in it.

however, one fateful, chilly afternoon mumbo had received a flurry of messages from his good friend grian.

grianmc: do you remember the bag i brought with me into the world?

mumbojumbo is typing...

mumbojumbo: why yes, i do!

mumbojumbo: you said it was an "unfinished project" right?

grianmc: yes yes

grianmc: this may sound a bit odd but can you,

grianmc: keep an eye on it while im away for the week? like... just some regular maintenance checks

grianmc: nothing too difficult, promise

curious as to whatever (likely horrid and broken) contraption grian had been working on over the season, mumbo agreed without much thought.

mumbojumbo: sure i can!

mumbojumbo: where are you going?

grianmc is typing...

grianmc: just to an old server. to check up on things

grianmc: and thanks. i mean it

grianmc: i also made some recordings and stuff to help, uh

grianmc: guide you through the maintenance checks and stuff

grianmc is typing...

grianmc: the, project, is in the sunken ship- the one that was my starter base.

grian mc is typing...

grianmc: dont freak out when you see it

the last message made mumbo pause, his fingers hesitating over the keypad of the communicator as he typed out his own response to it.

mumbojumbo: why would i freak out?

> grian has left the world.

mumbojumbo: grian?

---

that night, mumbo had flown over to the sunken ship-in-a-bottle, as grian had instructed.

although his clothes got quite damp from the trip down, which left him in a sour mood, the comforting, almost rustic atmosphere calmed him down greatly and nearly instantaneously.

the plain, simple garden in front of the ship was also still well taken care of, even after nearly a year and a half of the season starting.

wringing out his tie and hair, mumbo quickly shook the water off of himself, hugging himself to warm up as best he could.

as he entered the actual shipwreck itself, a strong scent of wood filled the room. although it was cramped and rather small, was very cozy and welcoming.

entering the next room over, mumbo's eyes landed on a sign that was placed above an iron trapdoor- on the wooden floor in front of it was a stone button.

mumbo

(or whoever might have come here instead):

push the button and go down the ladder

to check on the project

placing his foot on the button, mumbo pressed down and quickly climbed down the ladder, which seemed to go on for quite a long while. the pathway down was dark and cold, unlit and chilling to the bone.

by the time he had reached the end, he could see void particles rising through the floor and felt the familiar, faint tug of the void.

in front of him was an iron door.

the iron door's windows were blocked with stone, and there seemed to be no button or lever to open it.

the room he himself was in was hardly decorated and was made entirely of stone and gravel and dirt.

the only light source was a redstone torch placed in the corner of the room- how there were no mobs that had spawned, mumbo did not know.

but as he stepped closer to the iron door, he began to hear a faint noise.

ignoring the unease he felt, mumbo pressed his ear against the door...

and he heard breathing.

whirred, raspy, and heavy breathing, pressed against the other side of the iron door.

the breathing came out in near gasps, the breathing seemed desperate and hysterical.

mumbo quickly stepped back, uncertainty swallowing him whole and leaving him with nothing but dread and unrelenting unease.

stumbling backwards, mumbo nearly tripped over a small device that lay clattered against the floor.

upon closer inspection, he saw the faint outline of a communicator, a dim red light overlaying the screen.

upon the darkened screen was a simple audio file, titled "MCHECK_01.mp3".

with only a few seconds of hesitance, mumbo opened the file, and turned the volume up.

"um... hello, hello? is this thing on?"

grian's voice echoed throughout the empty room.

"ah, good! so, erm... hello! this is grian, though i hope that's obvious. thanks for taking on the job, um- whoever it is that accepted."

mumbo slowly sat himself on the cold ground, gaze unwavering as he stared at the iron door.

"now, i know it's super dark and all down here, but... think of this as rule #1. DO NOT! i repeat do NOT! put any more light sources in here than there already is. he- i, i mean it doesn't like bright lights. at least not in this state."

"its just a simple NPC, so it shouldn't be too dangerous to maintain. if you go through the door, which, uh, you'll have to make your own button or lever- two of them actually, it should be slumped against the corner all broken-machiney like."

mumbo paused the recording, slowly pulling out a button from his inventory.

grian said it wouldn't be dangerous- plus, what were the chances that grian would make some sort of dangerous machine that would harm him? close to none, he'd say.

he firmly pressed the button aside the door until it was fully mounted on the wall, and held the palm of his hand over it, reluctant to press it.

he pressed his ear against the iron door once more, hand slipping away from the button on the wall.

the breathing was gone; the room was dead silent.

letting out a breath he was unaware to have been holding, mumbo picked up the communicator on the ground and firmly pressed the button, stepping inside of the other room.

the door shut with a clink, and once again he was met with a dark room with a single redstone torch in the corner.

the only difference he could see was that the room was made of spruce wood and logs, and was much more narrow than the previous opening.

the floor creaked beneath him as he reached out to grab onto the redstone torch propped on the wall.

so far, he did not see any machine- though it was more likely that said machine was just in the other corner, which had no light reflected onto it.

bringing the torch closer to the other side of the wooden room, mumbo stalked forward with caution, squinting his eyes to try and make out any outline of a machine.

what he stumbled across was more complex than any redstone contraption he'd ever seen.

what he came upon was a disturbing sight that sent shivers up his spine.

collapsed in the corner of the room was a replica of grian.

the side of its face was sprawled open, revealing its internal metal skeleton, and oil and redstone were bubbling down the side of that skeleton's mouth, staining its iron teeth.

its eyes were cast downward, dull and black, and the bottom half of its shirt was torn off, revealing an iron ribcage with missing bolts and cut wires, burn marks and scratches.

its right leg up to its knee was missing entirely, red and blue uneven wires sprawling out across the floor. its hands were missing a few fingers.

it was hard to look at an NPC replica of your close friend and call it an... well, "it".

especially in the condition it was in.

shakily leaning down and placing the torch upon the floor, never looking away from the machine, mumbo pulled out the communicator and continued playing the audio file.

"...so, you probably saw it, and freaked out a little bit, am i right? well. i guess it's pretty normal to do that- sorry for the scare. i guess we can just move along with the maintenance check ASAP, huh?"

the head of the machine creaked ever so slightly, turning to look at mumbo the minute his eyes looked downward.

"for now, you can just push any parts of its body that have... popped out, so to speak. sometimes it's its face, sometimes it's its arm... i think its locks are kind of broken. all you gotta do is push it back into place until it clicks. after that, just make sure it's powered down all the way- the power button is on the back of its neck. if it's green, press and hold until it turns red."

the recording ended; the communicator shutting off by itself.

looking up at the NPC, he froze up, eyes locking instantly with black and empty eyes.

hadn't it been facing towards the ground...?

no, no, he must have just been imagining things, there's no way the broken down and tattered machine in front of him could have moved.

it was as still as a stone, unmoving and unwavering.

swallowing a lump in his throat, mumbo reached his hand forward, pressing against one of the three sections of the NPC's face, and clicked it back into place.

reaching both hands out this time, he swiftly pushed the other pieces of its face back, retreating his hands the minute the pieces clicked into place.

why was he so nervous? there was nothing to be nervous about.

it was just a broken machine, nothing more and nothing less.

pushing its head forward, mumbo peered behind the NPC, a chill running down his spine as he saw a bright green button on the backside of its neck.

recalling grian's instructions, mumbo quickly pressed the button, holding it down for one second, two seconds, three seconds, and finally-

"HELLO, MY NAME IS NPC GRI-AN- NPC GR- NP- N- N- N- N-N-N-N-N-"

jumping back with a scream, mumbo fell onto the floor, scrambling away from the NPC fearfully, its voice screeching loudly and its body twitching sporadically.

his heart beating loudly in his chest, and he locked eyes with the reddened irises of the machine before him.

after a few more seconds of jittering and glitchy screaming, the NPC seemed to shut down completely, its eyes flickering back into nothingness.

mumbo heaved, stumbling up to his feet once more. after quickly and skittishly checking to see if the power button was red (which it was), he quickly ran to the iron door, slamming a button down and opening the iron door immediately.

elytra equipped and rockets in hand, mumbo flew upwards and out of the sunken ship as fast as he possibly could.

even as he reached his base, he could feel his heart racing still.

---

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fanfiction #hermitcraft fanart #mumbojumbo #mumbo jumbo #npc grian #npcgrian #grianmc #hc grian #grian #the iron door

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hermits-that-craft · 4 years

Text

Chapter 50 - Arc 2 - Two Deaths In The Server, Reprise

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509375/chapters/63621574 TW - DEATH, BLOOD, TORTURE, SCREAMING

“Scar is here.” Princess’ voice is strained, her body shaking as a bruise blooms on her cheek.

“Yes. The mage came.”

“You said-” Princess’ voice shakes, two voices saying the same thing at the same time, one deep and unsettling and the other far too high pitched to be natural. “You said you would leave him alone!”

“Princess, get a hold of yourself.” Night snaps, anger mixing with tiredness as they struggle not to lash out at her again. “He came out of his own free will. He can suffer the consequences. I have not done anything to him.”

“You knocked him out.”

“He committed regicide. You know what the difference between your father and King Silas is, Stress?” Night growls, Stress flinching away from the angry god. “Your father wasn’t murdered by his son.”

---

Impulse doesn’t struggle in Night’s arms as Night drags them to a small cell, the smell of blood trading for the smell of mildew and mold. The cuts on his back sting and tears well up in his eyes, trying desperately not to cry.

He thinks of Tango, of Zedaph. They’re both safe. The trade was equal, his freedom for theirs. It still hurts, Void it still hurts. He would give almost anything to leave, to feel safe, to feel whole again. To see the crinkles in Tango’s eyes when he smiles or the way Zedaph’s shoulders shake when he tries to hide that he’s laughing. He’d do anything to see them again, to be able to hold them, to be able to be held. To see someone not hurting - not hurting him. To see a face without rage.

Impulse saves his strength. He doesn’t struggle like he knows Ren did, like he could hear False doing. He lets Night drag him to a room, to a cell containing Scar, who flinches away from Night though he cannot move away. Night drops Impulse on the floor, walking out of the room.

Scar tries to walk to Impulse, the large metal squares forcing Scar to stay in one place, unable to move. He struggles, and Impulse can see the flashes of bright blue and gold magic in his eyes, the smell of electricity and fire fills the room, but nothing happens. A cut rests on Scar’s face, dangerously close to his left eye. The burn on Scar’s shoulder is bleeding, cut open by someone cruel, possibly Night or

Stress wouldn’t, would she?

Scar’s shoulders shake, his eyes filled with guilt. He mumbles something, an apology to someone Impulse can't see. An apology to someone lost. Someone who could come back, but likely won’t. Doc won’t come back himself, and neither will Ren. Even if they are freed, even if Night is killed and gone forever, they won’t come back themselves. No one will leave this place, this base, the same. Not Impulse, not Scar, not False, not Stress, not Mumbo. No one will leave this place the same.

But they will leave this place.

Impulse stands, his legs shaking, and he forces himself to walk over to Scar, pulling a small hairpin out of his hair, focusing on the lock on Scar’s handcuffs. He forces the lock open, spending too long on the lock. Night could find them. Night could come back.

“We need to hurry, can you do that magic thing you did back there?”

“I don’t know how to. I lost control.” Scar looks at the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is all my fault if it wasn’t for me none of this wold have happened.”

“Scar, you didn’t invite Night here.” Impulse pulls the mage into a hug, smiling kindly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“If I was the one who died instead of Silas, Doc would still be Doc.” Scar mumbles to himself.

“Don’t you dare say anything like that ever again.” Impulse says, taking Scar by the shoulders. “Silas was a bastard, one who doesn’t deserve to have his name spoken again. We’re getting out. We’re leaving right now, and you and I are going to get everyone out, Scar. I swear it. We’re going to be okay.”

Scar nods, watching Impulse with wide eyes as Impulse rips some of his shirt off, wrapping it around his fists before he punches at the door, breaking the wood just outside the door handle. Impulse opens the door through the hole, offering his hand to Scar. Scar takes his hand, and with a squeeze of their hands the two men run.

They run through the endless halls and rooms, past dead ends and screams. They stumble over the wreckage that Scar left after he grew vines in the room. Scar’s lungs scream and beg for a pause, and Impulse’s legs burn as though they were dunked into lava, but the two men don’t stop, they can’t stop, fleeing from the room, from Night, from pain. To pause is to die, to run is to live.

Scar stops, making eye contact with Observer as they near the door. The fake Mumbo glares at them, picking up a sword and Impulse pulls Scar through the door, his legs and lungs screaming.

The two men flee through the jungle, fear gripping at their hearts. They will die here if they are caught.

And they won’t come back.

---

Iskall watches as everyone comes into the main room, everyone yawning and bleary eyed, though none more than Grian, Builder and Rose. Builder sits down, putting his head into his arms and shutting his eyes. Grian stands in a corner, his eyes watching the door like a hawk, though he relaxes more as the door shuts behind Xisuma. Rose sits by a window, staring out into the distance, twisting her wedding ring around her finger as one hand rests on her stomach. Iskall almost envies her - her wife is dead, at least she knows that Protector isn’t going to hurt anymore.

He wishes he could say the same about Stress. He wishes that Stress had the freedom of death, because then he would know that his girlfriend isn’t hurting - isn’t in pain.

Cub brings a bowl of soup to Rose as Cleo, Bdubs, Etho and Keralis try to make a plan, Wels flinching everytime the gesture towards him. Etho gestures to Iskall a few times, saying something about him needing to get used to his new arm before he can fight.

Iskall agrees, though he wont say anything about it. He won’t admit that he’s punched things, broken cups and bowls trying to get used to how the arm works.

Etho said his arm doesn’t hurt anymore, which is a plus.

Iskall taps his foot, the plan frustrating him more by the minute. Storming Night’s base? Giving Mumbo the opportunity to trap it, with the help of Beef? Not a chance, not if the hermits want to win. It irks him, it’s too risky. They might free some hermits, but the losses will be huge, and Night can permakill. It doesn’t matter how much favour Cleo has with Amari - Hermits will die because of this plan.

Iskall stands up, his chair scratching against the wooden floor. Heads snap towards him, surprise written on everyone’s faces.

“This plan isn’t going to work and too many people will die because of it.” Iskall says plainly, a monotone voice falling out of his lips. “Don’t bother protesting - Let me give you some advice I learnt from being an assassin. Lure your victims out. Don’t walk into a trap.”

“Well, do you have a plan?” Cleo looks at him hopefully, “Cause I’m up for suggestions.”

“The saying is down for suggestions, Cleo.” Joe puts in kindly.

“We trap the nether out of the shopping district. Everyone prepares to fight, no matter how skilled they are at fighting. Anyone with admin history at all needs to reset everyone’s spawn to the spawn island. A small party - maximum three people, goes to free the captured. The rest of us fight. The rest of us prepare. Anyone with allies off of the server invites them in. Builder, are there any other gods that could help us?”

Builder blinks a few times, shocked that he was called on. “Amari, Althea and Ella could help out.”

“Amari I know, but Althea and Ella?”

“You know how the jungle has a god?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Bdubs snaps, glaring at Builder. “I’m not going through that again.”

“No, you aren’t. Althea is the mushroom island goddess, Ella is her twin, the mushroom plains goddess. They’re both my daughters.”

“Grian isn’t our only cousin on your side?” Evil Xisuma asks quietly, and surprise flashes in Builder’s eyes.

“You’re the missing sons?” Builder mumbles, but before anything can be done, a buzz echoes through the room, people’s faces turning white. No one wants to read it, no one wants to see if they’ve lost someone.

Iskall sets his jaw, taking a deep breath in. He picks up his communicator, ready to read it.

TheNight sent (2) attachment(s) TheNight: I’ve heard about the nHo TheNight: Pity you have to lose two more to the jungle. You all know the consequences of running now.

Iskall’s eyes wander over the attachments, bile rising in his throat. He shakily sits down, handing his communicator to Cleo. He hears her screams through panicked thoughts, he barely hears the other hermits shouting, barely see’s Grian’s eyes flash red or Zedaph crying in Tango’s arms. The images won’t leave his mind.

Impulse and Scar, lying in a thick, bloodied copse vines. Their backs torn open, ribcage exposed. The bones aren’t pure white, stained a light pink with the blood. Their bodies are magles, vines tearing Scar’s arms from his torso and strangling him. Their bodies - because Iskall can’t imagine that the two men are still alive - are coated in blood and dirt. Bones stick through Impulse’s leg, a vine exiting the back of his head.

Iskall is going to kill Night.

#the night au #the night #stressmonster101 #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #iskall85

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