#human grumbot

[d0not-disturb]

Normalest parents ever!!!

I HATE this drawing but whatever the sketch is fine but I HATE BACKGROUNDS GRAH

[a-sociopath-do-your-research]

Whenever I see human!Grumbots I hope in my heart out there, somewhere, in that universe, there's a human!NPG and RoboG that are kind of like the criminal adult siblings that sometimes come around and teach their younger brothers tax evasion

[dailygrumbot]

Day 24: He's a Real Boy!!!

bonus below the cut.

In general, this is a quick look at what he would appear as as a human or human-like. You'll see why in upcoming posts.

[birdnt]

lore -> hermits are immortal and aren’t affected by david’s ageing power

“ david afk session w/ grian ”

part 1

david’s wardrobe change was inspired by @/OliveInABox and @/viridianartist ’s designs on twt

[artificialkids-2k23-official]

[grow-bettah]

GRAAAAAH ROSE ART!!! MY GIRL (SCREAMS)

omce gain. ft. pearl scrunhle. they're best friendsb

[ask-morehuman-grumbot]

Father, how could you?

[sunofaraven]

What inspired Love Death + Grumbot?

Sorry for sitting on this ask for so long! This was a way harder question to answer than I anticipated, and I apologise in advance for the very long post XD

I started working on LD+G back in January 2023, just after the end of the Hermitcraft/Empires crossover event. I had just finished writing Soulbound, my first fic, and I was itching to start another. And... I was missing Mumbo. Grian was missing him too and Emperor Grumbot was ready to destroy a whole universe just because Mumbo wasn't in it; I was defenceless against the "I miss Mumbo" brainrot.

The initial idea for LD+G was more of a gritty, steampunk, two dudes and their cryptic robot son against the world thing. I wanted to write an apocalypse fic (I've actually got several original novels that are apocalypse/dystopian novels--I am only a little addicted to the genre...), and Cub was doing his whole sculk thing on empires, so it seemed as good a cause for an apocalypse as anything else. You can see all this in the very first notes I ever made for the fic:

But, see, I LOVE zombies. I blame The Last of Us. I'd spent 2022 trying to play through the second game and getting frustrated with its cynical take on the world. It just doesn't feel believable to me that humanity would be at each other's throats. Sure, people are scared and impulsive, but it takes a lot for the average human to hurt another. Our strengths lie in our adaptability and how we support each other in times of need!!

Anyway, once I veered away from steampunk and started down the zombie route, a big inspiration for some of the characters was Hybbart's Rancher Apocalypse AU (I blame them entirely for my Ranchers obsession tbh). They also had some pretty fun ideas about the role of sculk in an apocalypse, and since I come from a biology background, the opportunity to have a symbiosis between zombies and sculk was just SO much fun for me.

So then, why did it become a story about grief? Well... I felt pretty trapped in my personal life at the time, so initially LD+G was both a way to process that and some much-needed escapism. I don't remember exactly when or why I decided that Grian was infected, but I do remember writing like I'd been possessed in early 2023. I wrote a whole list of scenes/moments that I wanted it to contain and then the plot just kinda... fell out of me one day.

To be melodramatic about it, I have written a lot of novels in my life, but none that felt so akin to bleeding out on the page as this one did. I needed to write this story, to have a place to channel my emotions as well as my eternal mcyt brainrot. I wasn't mourning a person, exactly, I was mourning my own perceived lack of agency and trying to gather the strength to end a whole chapter of my life and start anew.

So I wrote about love, I wrote about death.

And I wrote about Grumbot.

[marsmarbles]

DDMAU! Mumbo!

In the world of DDMAU, Grumbot actually succeeds in making Mumbo mayor/president of whatever hermitopia style mega city everyone lives in.

Mumbo turns out to be a pretty poor leader, as he never even wanted the title in the first place. Realizing this, Grumbot takes things into his own hands.

Grumbot sorta…slaps a headset on Mumbo and starts controlling him. If Mumbo can’t be a good mayor, Grumbot should be mayor(at least in Grumbot’s eyes). However, since Grumbot’s original purpose is to make Mumbo mayor, Grumbot can’t just take over without the presence of Mumbo, so Grumbot opts to conduct every decision of Mumbo’s. Mumbo is mayor and the people get a competent leader(win win, right?).

With limited knowledge on human needs, Grumbot often leaves Mumbo overexerted, starved, and terrified.

[locusfandomtime]

Canon-compliant Hermitcraft family tree.

Additional notes:

Based off: limited life; the running joke of Beef being Etho’s mother; Grumbot referring to Grian and Mumbo as his dads; Etho saying he is getting married to Cub, Tango, and Xisuma in a collab; Doc calling Etho “dad”; Bdubs proposing that Cub becomes his new father and Cleo talking about polycules

This is a hermitcraft thing, so not including any life series / empires people, even if they should be on here

Blank circles are where people should exist but aren’t specified. In this case, Grian is Scar + Bdubs’ cousin, so we know Cleo must have a sibling who is Grian’s parent, but that person is never specified

Only including “children”/NPCs if they have sapience. In this case, Grumbot is capable of communication, has human level intelligence, and is alive, so he counts. Kerilson would also count but for the love of god I don’t know what familial relation he has to xB/Keralis, if any

Suggestions/corrections welcome

Name-only version:

[happy-hermit]

HELLO HELLO EVERYONE :D

This is a fic for an AU where young teenager TCD Scar comes through Grian's rift :) It's a trauma reveal folks <33

Enjoy!!

===================================

Grian was beginning to believe that the rift had some form of sentience, given that at times it appeared to become quite… temperamental. Some days it would be almost eerily still and slow. Others it would— Well, it would do what it was currently doing. 

The rift was swirling with more shades of purple than usual, dark patches appearing and disappearing with alarming frequency. There was an electricity in the air that made the hair on his arms stick up, and Grian had the strange feeling in his stomach that the thing was emitting some sort of sound that was too low or high for human ears. It felt a bit like a thunderstorm. 

Grian had set up shop immediately upon noticing something was different, resorting to sitting in a chair staring at the Rift waiting on it to do something. It was horrifically tedious. Grumbot — in true Grumbot fashion — was refusing to give him a straight answer. Grian was beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t have one. 

So he waited. With several cups of coffee and messy notes strewn around him on the ground, he waited. 

He was sleeping when the whole thing really started —  because the Universe hated him personally, he was sure. 

He was already sitting up by the time he regained consciousness, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide and darting around in confusion, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was too bright, and his vision was too blurry from sleep, and where in void’s name was that wind coming from?

The rift chose that moment to start spitting lightning at him, and Grian let out a strangled yell as he dove behind Grumbot’s messaging system, abandoning his empty coffee cups to an uncertain fate. He ducked down and shut his eyes tightly as the glow of the Rift got brighter and brighter, as the high pitched noise emitting from it got higher and higher, until finally something in the fabric of reality snapped under the strain. 

From across the room, there was a short, terrified yell, cut short by the impact of something hitting the ground, and a clatter, like the person had dropped something. There was sudden and complete silence, until it was broken by a quiet groan. Heart in his throat, Grian opened his eyes and shifted, peeking over his makeshift shield to check things out. 

The Rift was back to what he considered to be normal, glowing a serene purple, calm as anything. His notes were strewn about the room and burned at the edges. His coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen. 

On the ground was a person. They were curled up on their side, clutching at their head with gloved hands. Their clothes were ragged and torn, bandages peeking out from under them as the figure shifted slowly. And then they sat up, and their face drifted into view. 

Grian’s breath hitched, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blocks he was hiding behind. It was a kid. He had messy brown hair, jagged and uneven, like he’d cut it himself, and a bandage creeping up the side of his face from under his chin. He had a bandana tied around his neck, mostly a faded green, except for the faint splatters of dull red. His face was gaunt and his eyes were wide and scared as he patted himself down frantically, muttering to himself. The kid couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. He did not look like someone who believed he would live for much longer. 

Grian let himself poke his head just a bit higher over the barrier, frozen in shock and confusion as his unplanned visitor started whirling around and looking at the floor. His gaze finally landed on something that Grian couldn’t quite see, and his shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief as he went to pick it up. 

Grian… didn’t know what he was expecting. A sword, maybe? No. 

The raggedy little teenager had popped through an interdimensional rift in Grian’s basement, looking like absolute hell, and he picked up a gun. 

The kid checked that it was loaded in practiced movements, almost with the grace of a soldier. It contrasted sharply with the youth of his face, and the way his shoelaces were untied and tucked into his shoes. It painted a very concerning picture. 

His visitor was just beginning to gather his bearings, hauling himself to his feet with suppressed sounds of pain. He was favoring one leg. The gun was poised at the ready in his arms. 

Never let it be said that Grian was a smart man, given what he did next. 

“You can’t have those here.”

The kid made a strangled noise of alarm as he whipped around to face where Grian now stood apart from his makeshift cover, his hands raised in what he hoped was the universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’. And then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t the usual kind of chaos that happened around here, but he was going to try his best to take it in stride. What was the worst that could happen? He’d get shot? 

He’d respawn. But the kid was staring at him like he wasn’t aware of that. Like maybe he was counting on the opposite to be true. 

Grian forced himself to look past the very threatening weapon pointed at him to get a better look at the person's face, and he met his eyes. They were a striking shade of green, trained on him with pinpoint accuracy and refusing to waver. At first glance, he looked almost angry. Grian knew, though, that it was only a thinly veiled cover for the heart-stopping panic crowding in behind it. For the confusion and pain and fear. (And why could he read a stranger so well?)

“I won’t hurt you,” Grian said, calm as he could manage, wings tense behind him. “But you’ve got to put the gun down.”

“You can talk,” the kid said, quiet and shaky. Like it was surprising. Something about it made Grian’s chest squeeze. 

“Yeah, I can,” Grian said, gentler now. “So can you. Can you tell me your name?”

The gun trembled for a moment, just slightly, and then went eerily steady once more. The kid swallowed hard and glanced around for a second before locking back on to Grian. 

“You’re not… infected?” The kid asked finally. 

Grian frowned a bit in confusion, his brow furrowing and wings rustling in unease. Infected. It sounded like a word with more weight than was really warranted. Like it came with a history. 

“I’m— No, I’m healthy as a horse,” Grian said, cracking an awkward grin. “Eat my vegetables and everything.”

The kid tilted his head, just slightly, and the gun dipped just a bit more towards the ground. Or, well. Towards Grian’s stomach. 

“A horse?” The kid repeated slowly, still in that carefully quiet tone, and if Grian didn’t know any better he’d think that he didn’t know what a horse was. Maybe he didn’t. 

“Yeah, you know— sort of like cows,” Grian said, now feeling absolutely insane. He was explaining the concept of horses while held at gunpoint. “But they’ve got longer faces, I think. And you can ride them.”

The kid, if anything, seemed more confused by that, and Grian gave up on the agriculture lesson for now. 

“You don’t need that here,” Grian redirected, gesturing carefully at the gun. The kid flinched a little at his movement, and Grian softened his voice as much as he could. “You’re safe, here. It’s safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The kid's shoulders tensed even further, the gun recentering itself firmly on Grian’s forehead and those oddly familiar green eyes shuttering back into a mask of calm. Only the slight tremble of his mouth gave away his fear. He was scared. A tangle of frustration and heartbreak and helplessness coiled in Grian’s chest. 

“It’s not,” the kid said, firmly. “It’s not safe anywhere.”

Where had he come from, that he believed that?

“Look, you— You see that behind you? It’s a portal,” Grian explained, motioning to it in jerky movements. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re somewhere new.”

The kid shook his head, desperate eyes flickering from Grian to the Rift and quickly back again. They were shining with unshed tears, his mouth wobbling almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he looked terribly, horrifically young. Too young to be holding a gun. Too young to be scared of the world. Too young to be so convinced that it couldn’t change. That there was no more hope for things to get better. 

“But I— No. I didn’t go into any portal,” the kid said, voice raising a little, accusing. “Then how did I get here? Did— You did something.”

“No no no,” Grian said, hands raised again. “That thing has a mind of its own, I didn’t do anything. I just sat here.”

“Well I didn’t do anything, either!” The kid said, sounding slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grian said, as gentle as he could manage. His protective instincts were going haywire; he didn’t really know why. “Look, just— Weird things just happen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Then where am I?” The kid asked, voice shaking horribly. 

“It’s called Hermitcraft,” Grian said, voice still carefully calm. “We’re in my house. Well— Under it.” He paused, hesitating, and his next question came out hushed. “Where did you come from?”

The stranger let out a shaky breath, gun unwavering and silence hanging in the still air around them. He didn’t answer. Grian could guess that it was nowhere good. 

They had run out of ways to stall the inevitable, in which the kid had two options. Shoot him or don’t. They were at a standstill. Something had to give. 

A soft noise from across the cavern interrupted Grian’s racing thoughts, and it took him a moment to place it as a muffled baa from one of the sheep in his sheep farm. It was barely anything, and yet the kid reacted as if it were a creeper beginning to explode, whirling to face the noise with wild eyes, swinging his gun in that direction. Namely, away from Grian.

Before he could think better of it, Grian rushed forwards, using his wings to propel him, and he disarmed the other before he even had the time to yell. A stray bullet shot somewhere into the ceiling in the brief struggle, loud enough that Grian knew someone would be coming round to check on it soon, and when the dust settled he was holding a gun, looking into the pale face of a terrified stranger.

“No!” The kid shouted, the loudest he’d been since he’d arrived, pushing at Grian with shaky shoves as he grappled for the gun. Grian deflected his attacks, heart sinking into his stomach as he watched the other grow increasingly frantic, breaths coming fast. “It’s mine! Give it back, it’s mine! You can’t have it, it— it’s mine. Please, please, it’s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grian said, out of his depth, practically pleading. “Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? But you— you can’t hurt anyone else, either.”

The kid just shook his head, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes as he backed away, hands in trembling fists at his sides. He glared at Grian with all the fire of a hardened soldier and all the fear of a child, green eyes flashing dangerously. Something prickled at the back of Grian’s neck. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. Déjà vu, maybe.

“It’s mine,” the kid repeated, firmer and quieter. “It has my name on it.”

Grian looked down, mildly curious among the adrenaline and confusion. 

He stopped breathing. Froze completely, hands white-knuckled on the gun. His skin went cold, heart tripping over itself in his chest. 

On the gun, in capital letters, was a name. 

[ SCAR ]

A name that he knew. 

Slowly, Grian looked up, breath hitching in his throat when he met the eyes of the stranger(?), now looking a little confused himself. There was a bandage on the side of his face. Judging by the size of it, it was covering a pretty nasty wound. Likely to leave a scar.

Grian knew exactly what it would look like, when it healed.

“Scar,” Grian said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears, blank and emotionless. “Your name is Scar.”

“I named myself,” the kid — Scar — said, still shaking a little, glancing around near-constantly. 

Grian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, mind void of any clear thoughts.  “It’s a good name,” he said, chest aching.

“Do you have one?” Scar asked. His hands were fisted in the front of his jacket, twisting anxiously.

“A gun?” Grian asked faintly.

Scar shook his head. “A name.”

“I’m… Grian. My name is Grian.”

“Grian,” Scar repeated, nose wrinkling a little, like he thought it was odd. Scar — his Scar — had made the exact same face last week when he’d come across a problem at his park. Grian felt sick. “You’re—”

The rapidly approaching sound of fireworks cut off whatever the kid had been about to say, and he flinched like he’d been struck, turning wide eyes to the sky as he stumbled a few steps back, towards Grian’s content generator. Grian looked up as well, torn between relief and frustration. The kid had finally seemed to be calming down. 

“It’s okay,” Grian said, rushed and panicked as he held out a placating hand towards Scar. “It’s just one of my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“Friends?” Tiny scared Scar hissed, like the very idea was ludicrous, and Grian was mildly offended.

Before he could come up with a reply, there was a call of his name from above, and Grian snapped his gaze back skyward, heartrate accelerating. 

Of course, Grian thought, watching as Scar crashed unceremoniously into the ground a few yards away. Of course it was him. Grian took a steadying breath and prepared himself. This was either the best possible option, or the worst. There was no telling where luck would have him fall, this time.

“Grian, I heard explosions!” Scar said, elytra disappearing as he straightened up from his rough landing. “Are you blowing things up without me? You know how much I—”

The builder cut himself off with a strangled noise, face falling quickly into something haunted. Almost scared. Any doubt Grian might have had about who the kid was vanished. They had the same way of being afraid. 

The way Scar was looking at the gun Grian was still holding confirmed it. He was looking at it with wide eyes and tense shoulders, breathing quick and shallow. He was looking at it with recognition.

“Where did you get that?” Scar asked, in a voice that Grian had never heard from him before, dark and small and shaking. 

Wordlessly, Grian stepped out of the way. 

And he watched as Scar locked eyes with his younger self. Just another day on Hermitcraft.

[d0not-disturb]

Human Grumbot redesigns and bonus hermit-kid designs

Agatha- Ren’s daughter

Dasher- ranchers kid

That’s all because I am LAZY

[zabo-writes]

Mumbo is a God (He thinks everyone else is also a god, but that they’ve just been really good at pretending to be human)

Mumbo was beginning to suspect he was on the receiving end of a remarkably complex prank.

This put him in a predicament. Should he go along with it? He knew it was more fun if he did. If Mumbo Jumbo knew one thing, it was how to commit to a joke.

However, this had been going on for years now. Mumbo was starting to get one of those feelings in his gut that was the kind of gut feeling people describe when they say they have a “gut feeling” about something.

And being that Mumbo did not have a gut, or any human body parts for that matter, one could see why this was distressing to him.

Mumbo Jumbo was a god. Specifically, the god of redstone. All of the other hermits were gods as well. The crux of the issue here was that all of the other hermits had been pretending to be humans for about 10 years now. And by pretending, Mumbo meant seriously, seriously roleplaying. He’d tested it! There’d been multiple instances where he had tried to convince another hermit to break character and do something godly. And they never cracked!

Truly, Mumbo was impressed. He himself was not quite as unshakeable. There’d been a few moments where his facade had cracked: the time he accidentally made a perfectly circular pumpkin (big problem in a world made of squares), the time where he put too power into the redstone AI for grumbot and gave it an existential crisis, the incident where he may have slightly consumed Grian’s soul…

All that was to say, Mumbo wasn’t the best at pretending to be a human, but he was giving it his best effort. And it seemed like the other hermits, in some sort of years-long prank, were keeping up the joke until Mumbo got it right.

Well if that was the case, he’d finally caught on! Haha! Take that, other hermits! Mumbo finally figured out the prank where everyone else pretended for a very long time that they weren’t actually—

Gods.

Wait.

They were gods, right?

Scar with his magnificent terraining skills, Cleo with her armor stands…

And surely Grian was some sort of trickster god. Right?

All of his friends were so talented, he had simply assumed it was related to some sort of godly domain.

Come to think of it, did he have any confirmation that they ever were gods in the first place?

No, no, no… surely…

Mumbo paused his task of mindlessly mining out a very large area under his base. He blinked. The netherite pickaxe clattered as it hit the floor.

Oh, he was an absolute spoon.

———

Grian grumbled as he shuffled through every chest and shulker he owned for what felt like the billionth time. He could’ve sworn he left the materials to make a beacon somewhere around here. Did it “lag” into someone’s inventory again? He pulled out his communicator to put a message in the chat.

“Grian! Incoming!”

Grian looked up just in time to see Mumbo collide with his face, sending them both sprawling across the floor.

“Ah! Hello Mumbo, fancy seeing you here! Do you happen to know where my beacon is?” Grian laughed as he dusted himself off.

“This is not the time! Grian! Grian I’m having a crisis.” Mumbo lamented,

“Yes, so am I! My beacon is gone!”

Mumbo continued, undeterred, “Grian, I have a very important question for you, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Okay?”

“What does your true form look like?”

“My what?”

“Alright, alright. So you know how I’m a god?”

Grian stated incredulously at the mustachioed man before him. “WHAT?”

Mumbo groaned and put his head in his hands. “No, I really need you to be honest. I’m a god, you’re a god, bdubs is a god… we all are, right?”

Grian was not sure how to respond to this. He was, to his knowledge, as human as they come. “I think this is a sitting down conversation.”

After a long, long chat inside of Grian’s bedroom, Grian felt he was finally understanding the situation. He was taking it pretty well! As well as one can take your best friend explaining to you in the same breath that he is a deity, and oh— by the way, he thought this whole time that you were as well.

“Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. You’ve been pretending to be human this whole time because you thought you had to?”

“I thought it was a game!” Mumbo exclaimed, burying his face in the pillows on Grian’s bed. “I thought it was a game, like an ‘I’m not going to kill anything for a season’ type of game!”

“Right, but in this case the game was ‘pretending to be human for multiple years without mentioning the fact that you’re a god’?”

“…. Yes.”

Grian cackled “Well, Mumbo, I can assure you, if that ever was a game, you’ve certainly won! I would never have suspected you.”

Mumbo nodded sagely. “Yes, it’s the mustache. A classic human disguise.”

“You don’t really have a mustache?!”

Mumbo cocked his head. “Grian, you’ve seen my real form! Or, a depiction of it, I suppose. The redstone god? From the buildswap we did?”

“That was ages ago! And wait, did you just make a self portrait for that prompt, then?!”

“Yes! That’s why I thought you knew!”

“Somehow that feels like cheating. I should go get Pearl and have her re-evaluate the results of that build swap with this new information”

A look of concern crossed Mumbo’s face. “Oh, I didn’t even think that. I’m going to have to explain this to everyone, aren’t I?”

Grian shrugged, “I’m sure it’s fine. Say, could I see your ‘god’ form, O great and powerful Mumbo Jumbo? Now you have me curious.”

“Well I could, but I might destroy your ceiling.” Mumbo looked up at the rafters sheepishly.

“Back outside we go then”

Safely on the grass behind Grian’s base, Mumbo transformed into his full form for the first time in what felt like ages.

The form was that of a large humanoid figure, as tall as Grian’s house, made of red terracotta and loose redstone dust that fell and scattered like sand with every movement Mumbo made. His eyes were two glowing redstone lamps that flickered with emotion, reminiscent of a certain robot they had built before.

It occurred to Mumbo at that moment that if his friends were truly human, this form might be quite scary to them. He knelt down to look at Grian, bracing himself to handle whatever fear was in his friend's eyes.

Instead, Grian was grinning like a madman.

“Oh, we are SO pranking Scar with this.”

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

grian’s new episode got me going hm

might probably do a gem-centric one soon because they make each other worse

-

He wouldn’t let go.

Grian clutched onto the fishing rod, his grip having worn down the wood by now. It was a week into the server. It felt like an eternity.

Sometimes he forgot what came before, before he started fishing.

He recalled, yes. Things like the big moon, Grumbot, whatever. They seemed less memories and more fragmented experiences just laying around waiting for someone to claim them.

It was like his mind was a vase, and the ocean had smashed it into a million tiny little pieces, left for him to fish out.

Another salmon. Grian let out a short, harsh shout and threw it in a nearby barrel and cast his line again.

And again, and again.

There was one rod, seven or eight lines. He peered through the web of black lines and distinguished the single working one. The ocean kept fooling with him like that.

“It kind of looks like a net,” Gem’s voice chirped behind him. They didn’t bother with greetings now. They just talked about fishing.

“I don’t even know how this happened,” he said.

“At least you can get mending ten times as fast now.”

“No, only one works.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Then, having exhausted all possible subjects of conversation, they lapsed into an awkward pause. Grian caught another fish. Cod.

Gem made to leave, but couldn’t resist a final comment.

“By the way, you should sleep. And, uh, shave, unless you’re going for that rugged aesthetic.”

She left.

Was it that obvious? Grian wondered. That he was addicted?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t thought of himself for so many days. He’d just been fishing, dragged himself to chip away at his base, and then went back to fishing.

He stared at himself in the water.

Oh.

Beard, check. Eyebags, check. Suspenders and a beanie for some reason. A bobber hanging from his waist and his pants dipped in seaweed. His hair was overgrown and soaked. There was even a patch on his sweater, for goodness sake.

Grian only felt it now. How had he not noticed it before? Was he just that focused on fishing? His hand subconsciously wandered to his face and brushed against the scales.

The what.

Grian spun around, looking for a clearer mirror than the water, rubbing his cheek in disbelief. Scales, wet and smooth like a fish. He should know. He’d handled thousands of them in a week.

He glanced at his arm, the texture very fishy in both ways. His heart dropped. He just wanted mending, not this. He was supposed to be the fisherman, not the bloody catch!

“Gem, Gemgemgemgem!” He yelled.

Gem turned. “What?”

“I think I’m turning into a fish!”

To her credit, Gem didn’t react much. She did run closer, but she didn’t scream or anything. She just said, “Hmm. Same.”

“What do you mean, same?” Grian yelped.

She rolled her eyes and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the same scales. “It’s probably a side effect, chill. Impulse wasn’t actually a dwarf last season, he just started growing shorter. It’s the Hermitcraft air or something.”

Grian stared at her, gears in his brain turning furiously to process her words. “Didn’t you guys base near the water?”

“That’s true, that’s true. I don’t think that was it, though.” Gem said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Anyway, I need to build. See ya.”

She sauntered away.

Grian didn’t have the presence of mind to call her back. He dropped the rod he’d been clutching this whole time and stared at his hands, moist from sweat.

He was short of breath, and after fifteen seconds he realised it wasn’t just from the panic. He physically couldn’t breathe.

Fish can’t survive on land.

Before he could think, before he remembered he was human, Grian leaped into the water, which enveloped him comfortingly like a drug.

The part of Grian that was still Grian realised this was like walking into the tiger’s cave, and forced himself to surface, gasping for air. He ordered his brain to use the lungs he had, and he started breathing again.

He clambered up onto the pier, and laid down on the wood, drained. He fumbled around and found the rod. Well, what else was there to do? Cast line, sit down, wait.

After all, the next one could be the one.

He just wanted mending. Then he’d stop. He’d stop.

The ocean wouldn’t let him go.

[theminecraftbee]

okay you saying Three and Grian would clash makes me wanna see a multi-dimensional smash up where they meet

I MEAN SAME, one of my most self-indulgent desires is this, and i'm trying to remember if i've talked about this before on the blog or just rambled to my friends about it, lol. because it would be INTERESTING. there would be a lot of emotions going on there, it'd be messy!

because like, okay. so on grian's end: three is very clearly the bad ending, to him. this is the ending where the watchers erase grian and leave behind a strange little weapon who does stuff like "starts following orders when stressed", which is like, in grian's mind, the opposite of grian's behavior. and yeah, sure, three insists it isn't grian, but that doesn't make that not fucked up to grian, and probably also like... i don't know how good grian would be at seeing past that, you know? (bonus points if this grian is, himself, a standard "grian is a watcher who left" construction, because, you know, woof.)

but meanwhile, three like, has known identity hangups about grian. three would already be in a frustrated state of "i am NOT grian though" like, from the jump. but three would ALSO be forced to look at the version of the world where grian stuck around. and in some ways, three would look at that and see all the things its existence prevents, which would suck! but it would ALSO be a scenario where... so the thing is, the only version of grian that three knows is the posthumous version. the version that got lionized in death. this idealized image of the man. and i feel like three would see grian and find him... disappointing, in comparison, because ANYONE would be! but that'll also sure be a Thing.

(additional bonus points: grumbot. things that are DEFINITELY on the list of "things three didn't do in its own timeline and if mumbo did three treated wildly differently", and also on the list of "so do you think the human weapon with identity issues might identify with that robot or what" and also given that the rift remains one of the easiest crossover excuses on hermitcraft, oh man, oh boy. anyway.)

how would this end? I DON'T KNOW. i haven't managed to actually WRITE this self-indulgent thing although i have looked at all my friends with wide sad eyes about it in case any of them do, lol. but rest assured I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS GREATLY.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Xisuma is a robot and perhaps the only hope of stopping Grumbot's villain arc if Mumbo doesn't return soon. The problem is, X forgot he wasn't human a long time ago.

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