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songbirdsanctuary · 4 months ago

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Grian and Mumbo fic(Such creative name, definitely not what I've been naming my past five fics.)

Warnings: Mild blood/injury

Word count: 2,843

Mumbo picked a comparator up and set it carefully on a blue strip of wool, the cool metal clicking softly against the fabric. His voice flowed steadily as he explained the contraption he was building to Grian, his words a stream of redstone logic and technical jargon. He was halfway through describing a potential observer clock when he noticed the absence of Grian’s usual quick-witted responses. The room had fallen into a quiet that felt softer than it should, the only sounds now the faint hum of machinery and the gentle rustle of Mumbo’s own moth wings as they shifted restlessly.

Curious, Mumbo turned, his dark eyes searching for his friend. Grian had slumped against a red shulker box, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open, breaths slow and even. His feathers, normally so lively, lay ruffled and still, the soft hues blending with the muted red of the box beneath him. His small, talon-like hands were loosely curled against his chest, as if he had simply drifted off mid-thought.

A smile tugged at the corners of Mumbo’s lips, his expression softening. Grian looked so peaceful like this, the weight of their often chaotic lives slipping away in sleep. Mumbo wondered how long he had been asleep, how long he had been too wrapped up in his redstone to notice his friend’s fatigue. It wasn’t the first time Grian had run himself into the ground, pushing through projects and plans until exhaustion caught up to him.

Mumbo set his redstone components down with deliberate care, not wanting to disturb the quiet. Rising to his feet, he moved toward Grian with light steps. The avian felt almost weightless as Mumbo gently scooped him up, his wings brushing against the soft fabric of Grian’s jacket. He couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to carry him. Was Mumbo stronger than he thought? It seemed unlikely—he was all limbs and angles, tall and wiry, his strength more a matter of leverage than muscle. Maybe Grian was simply that light, his hollow bones lending him an airy weightlessness.

As he cradled Grian against his chest, Mumbo’s wings twitched reflexively, wrapping around to shield the smaller man from the cool air. He moved slowly through the corridors of his base, the familiar path to his bedroom winding through half-finished builds and neatly stacked chests. The room was dim, the late afternoon light filtering through the window, casting long shadows across the bed. Mumbo eased Grian down onto the mattress, his movements practiced and gentle. The avian stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake.

Mumbo tugged the blankets up, tucking them around Grian with a tenderness he rarely showed. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering above Grian’s head before he gave in and gently smoothed a tuft of hair away from his face. The coolness of his fingers seemed to soothe the avian, whose breathing evened out again. Mumbo set a bottle of water on the bedside table, the glass catching a sliver of light. It would be there for when Grian woke, groggy and likely confused about how he had ended up in bed.

Satisfied, Mumbo stepped back, letting his wings brush against the doorframe as he left. He moved with a sense of purpose back to his redstone project, but his mind lingered on Grian, hoping his friend would rest well. Mumbo settled back onto the floor, his knees tucked up, and his eyes narrowed as he examined the fine, twisting lines of redstone dust. His fingers moved with practiced precision, but his thoughts kept circling back to the warmth of Grian’s weight in his arms and the quiet trust that sleep represented.

Mumbo worked for a while, his hands moving with careful precision as he adjusted the redstone components. His focus had narrowed to the tiny, intricate movements, the soft clicks of repeaters and the gentle hum of redstone lamps. The room was a tapestry of dust and circuitry, his mind threading through possibilities and problem-solving with every adjustment. He had almost tuned out the world around him when a sudden, heavy thud broke through the quiet.

He froze, the delicate line of redstone dust between his fingers slipping to the floor. His mind raced through possibilities—a creeper, maybe? But no, his base was well-lit and secure. A malfunctioning piston? But nothing in this room should have moved. His chest tightened as he stood, his wings twitching with a shiver of unease, and he moved quickly toward his bedroom. His feet barely made a sound on the stone floor, his body all sharp, quick motions as he pushed the door open.

Grian was on the floor. His small form was crumpled, limbs tangled awkwardly in the blanket that had slipped with him, his wings splayed against the cold ground. His head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven puffs. He was still asleep, but it was not a peaceful kind of rest. His expression was twisted, brows drawn together, and Mumbo’s heart clenched at the sight.

Mumbo moved to his side, kneeling down and carefully sliding his arms beneath Grian. The avian’s body was limp, the weight of his exhaustion pulling him down even as Mumbo lifted him with ease. He shifted, turning Grian to cradle him against his chest, mindful of his wings. It was the second time today he’d held Grian like this, and yet now it felt heavier. He laid Grian back in the bed, the mattress dipping under his slight weight.

As Mumbo drew the blankets back over him, he noticed the wetness on Grian’s cheeks. Tear tracks glistened in the low light, his lashes damp and clumped together. His face was flushed, a faint red against his pale skin, and his lips trembled with the whispers of words not spoken. Mumbo’s fingers hesitated over his face, brushing just above his skin as if afraid his touch might shatter something delicate.

Had Grian been crying? Had the nightmare reached him even through the veil of sleep? Mumbo’s throat tightened, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. He debated waking him up, his fingers flexing against the blanket. Would it be kinder to pull him from whatever horror had him trapped? Or would the waking world feel just as harsh, his confusion and fear only magnified in the sudden light?

In the end, Mumbo let his hand fall to his side. He stepped back, his legs feeling heavier with every step toward the door. His instinct was to give Grian space, to retreat back to his redstone and let his friend find his way back to calm on his own. But his feet wouldn’t carry him across the threshold. His body resisted, his wings folding tightly against his back as if to anchor him in place. He didn’t want to leave Grian alone. Not like this.

With a quiet sigh, Mumbo crossed to a worn armchair in the corner of the room. He pulled a blanket off the back of it, letting it drape over his lap as he settled in. His hand found a book on the side table, one of the adventure novels Grian had recommended, with frayed edges and dog-eared pages. He opened it, his eyes skimming over the words, but they swam in and out of focus. His mind kept drifting back to the bed, to the soft rise and fall of Grian’s chest, to the way the shadows clung to the corners of the room.

Time seemed to stretch. He turned pages, but the story never settled into his mind. His ears were tuned to every sound, every rustle of the blankets, every uneven breath. He debated slipping away, back to his redstone project where everything made sense, where logic and mechanics could fill the empty spaces in his head. But then, a scream tore through the room, sharp and raw, shattering the fragile calm.

Mumbo’s book slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. His body reacted before his mind caught up, propelling him to the bed. Grian’s wings had flared wide, feathers bristling in every direction. His body was a storm of motion, thrashing against the tangled blankets as if caught in the grasp of some unseen force. His mouth was open, another scream building in his throat, the sound edged with pure, animal panic.

Mumbo grabbed for his shoulders, his hands firm but gentle, trying to ground him. “Grian! Hey, it’s me. You’re safe.” His voice was low, but Grian’s mind was too far away to hear it. His talons lashed out, sharp and wild, and Mumbo felt a sudden, searing pain as they caught his shoulder. He hissed, his wings flaring instinctively, but he didn’t pull back.

He tried again, his hands finding purchase on Grian’s arms. The touch only seemed to drive him deeper into the nightmare. His talons raked across Mumbo’s stomach, the fabric of his shirt giving way to sharp, stinging heat. Mumbo’s breath hitched, but he stayed, his body a wall between Grian and the edge of the bed.

“Grian! Wake up!” His voice broke, the urgency crashing over them.

Finally, Grian’s eyes snapped open, unfocused and wide with terror. He struggled against Mumbo’s grip, his movements clumsy and desperate. The momentum carried him over the edge, and he fell to the floor, the blankets trailing after him like the tail of a comet. His breathing came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he pressed himself back against the bed frame.

Mumbo stayed where he was, his hands raised, palms out. His own breathing was fast, his chest tight with the echoes of Grian’s screams. He ignored the sting of his wounds, the damp warmth spreading beneath his shirt. His focus was only on Grian, on the way his friend’s eyes darted around the room, still seeing the ghosts of his nightmare.

“It’s okay,” Mumbo said, his voice softer now, a gentle thread in the chaos. “You’re safe, Grian. It was just a dream.”

The words hung between them, a lifeline in the dark.

Mumbo held out a hand, his palm open and steady, a lifeline in the dim light of the room. Grian’s breaths still came in shuddering gasps, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His wide eyes searched Mumbo’s face, flicking over every feature as if trying to find something familiar in the haze of fear. Slowly, achingly slowly, the wildness in his gaze began to ebb, like a tide pulling back to reveal the jagged rocks beneath.

When Grian finally gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, Mumbo shifted closer. He moved with the cautious grace of someone approaching a wounded animal, every movement slow and deliberate. His wings folded tightly against his back, his body angled to be as unthreatening as possible. He wrapped his arms around Grian, the embrace loose and warm, avoiding the worst of the blood staining his shirt. He could feel Grian’s sharp edges against him—the brush of feathers, the press of thin shoulders, the tremors that ran through his small frame.

Grian remained stiff in Mumbo’s arms at first, his muscles tight with the remnants of his nightmare. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles pale, his talons digging into his own palms. Mumbo could feel each shallow breath, the way Grian’s ribcage expanded and contracted under his touch. He didn’t push for more, didn’t try to squeeze or draw him closer. He simply stayed, a quiet, steady presence.

It took a long time for Grian to soften. His rigid posture gave way to a sagging kind of exhaustion, his weight settling against Mumbo’s chest. His breathing evened out, though each inhale still caught on a sharp edge, a hiccup or a soft, broken sound. It was as if the walls inside him were crumbling, stone by stone, until finally, the first tear slipped free.

The sobs started small, a quiet hitch in his breath, and then they grew. His body trembled, his shoulders shaking as he clung to Mumbo, his fists uncoiling to grip at the fabric of Mumbo’s shirt. He cried with the force of someone who had held back too much for too long, the kind of grief that seeped into every corner of him and refused to be silenced. His tears soaked into Mumbo’s shirt, warm and damp, but Mumbo didn’t move, didn’t dare shift away from the raw vulnerability in his arms.

Mumbo’s fingers found their way into Grian’s hair, his touch gentle and rhythmic. He murmured soft, wordless sounds, a quiet comfort. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t press for answers. He knew Grian well enough to understand that the words wouldn’t come—not now, maybe not ever. There were some things too tangled to unravel, some pains too deep to put into words.

Eventually, the storm began to pass. Grian’s sobs faded to quiet sniffles, his breathing evening out into a fragile rhythm. Mumbo loosened his hold, giving Grian the space to pull away if he wanted. And, slowly, Grian did. He sat back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, his feathers ruffled and damp. His face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy, but there was a softness to his expression, a quiet kind of surrender.

“Hey,” Mumbo’s voice was soft, a whisper between them. “I need to clean up real quick…”

He moved to stand, but the shift drew Grian’s attention, his head snapping up. “Cl-clean up…?” His voice was hoarse, the syllables rough around the edges. His brow furrowed, confusion swimming through the lingering fear.

Mumbo offered a small, reassuring smile. “Got a few injuries. I’m fine, though. Promise.” His tone was light, but the words seemed to hang heavy in the air.

Grian’s gaze dropped, and Mumbo followed the line of his eyes. The blood had seeped through Mumbo’s shirt, dark patches spreading across his shoulder and stomach. Grian’s expression shifted, horror washing over his features as he looked down at his own hands, his talons still stained. The realization struck him like a physical blow, his face paling, his lips parting in a silent gasp.

Before Grian could spiral, Mumbo hurried to the bathroom. His movements were quick but controlled, his fingers steady even as his mind spun. He peeled off his shirt, the fabric sticking to the wound on his shoulder, and winced as the cool air hit his skin. The scratches were jagged, the talon marks shallow but long, red welts that stung beneath the wash of warm water. His stomach bore similar marks, thin lines where Grian’s panic had raked across him.

He cleaned the wounds methodically, his hands moving on autopilot. He wrapped gauze around his torso, the white bandages stark against his skin, and slipped on a fresh shirt. The lightheadedness hadn’t faded, but he pushed it aside, focusing on each task, each step. When he finally looked at himself in the mirror, his face was pale, his hair disheveled, but his expression was calm.

He made his way back to the bedroom, his feet soft against the stone floor. Grian had moved to the bed, his small form curled into himself, wings wrapped tight around his body. His head was down, and he startled when Mumbo entered, his whole body flinching. His eyes were wide, fear and guilt mingling in the blue depths, and when he spoke, his voice cracked.

“I-I’m s-sor-ry…” Grian choked out. His hands twisted in the blanket, his knuckles white, and he seemed to struggle with the weight of the words, as if they hurt on the way out. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Mumbo moved closer, cutting him off gently. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” His voice was a balm, soothing and steady. He sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough for Grian to reach out but not so close as to crowd him. “It was an accident. I’m not hurt, promise.”

Grian’s breathing stuttered, but the words seemed to reach him. He wiped at his eyes, his fingers trembling, and after a long moment, he leaned against Mumbo. His weight was light, his body warm, and Mumbo shifted to support him, his arm draping over Grian’s shoulders. He could feel the way Grian’s breathing evened out, each inhale a little less ragged, each exhale a little steadier.

Mumbo didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t need to. Whatever darkness had wrapped itself around Grian, whatever nightmare had bled through into reality, it wasn’t something that words could fix. But he could be here, a quiet presence in the storm, a steady ground to hold onto. And that, Mumbo thought, was enough.

They sat like that for a long time, the room settling into a gentle quiet. Outside, the sun had begun to set, the sky washed in hues of orange and purple. But inside, in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, there was only the soft sound of breathing and the steady warmth of two friends finding solace in each other’s presence.

#hermitcraft fanfic #hermitfic #hermitcraft #hermitblr #grian #mumbo jumbo

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hermit-lover · 2 years ago

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Hey hey!! Ur hermits x raccoon reader was so good ^^ could u do a Tango x raccoon reader who brings him shiny things and little trinkets they think hed like and Tango has a full shulker box in his ender chest filled with things given by the reader

Love ur work stay hydrated <33

Trinkets!

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Character: Tango x Raccoon!Reader

Type: Blurb (~1.3k)

Theme: Fluff, Romantic

Summary: Decked out's secretes are ever alluring, combined with the irresistible game master, you cant help but want to slink around.

TW: Brief panic.

A/N: Glad you liked it! I'm always down for some good ol raccoon shenanigans. Kinda strayed from the prompt, but I had fun, sorry!

Its been a small while since you've joined Hermitcraft, and despite your original apprehension as to how well you'll get along, you've fit in perfectly.

The group welcomed your absentminded chaoticness, and eagerly joined in shenanigans.

Yet, above all shone one hermit- who was quite literally a hermit this season. His shiny glowing eyes and welcoming personality, combined with apt for the strange and wonderful, made him so alluring. And that wasn't even touching on his project!

Yes, his project- the sprawling grounds of complex spaghetti redstone and brilliantly decorated caves that wove intricately through the large hole.

Decked out.

It wasn't finished yet- but that wouldn't stop you from trying to explore it! The cold breeze that emanated from the space ruffles your ears and tail, chilling them in the familiar way. You tuck your pickaxe away, sending it into your inventory with a flash of pixels. It was exhilarating breaking in- the pounding of your heart combined with the shaky excited sparks through your limbs only served to drive you further. Maybe this time you'll be able to fully explore the card sorter!

Skittering along a wool line of redstone, you dodge and weave around frankly unsafe contraptions. The glittering messes draw you in, with the promise of secrets and treasures. Whispers of grand prizes and knowledge no ones has keeps you moving. Once at the end of this line, you can see the card sorter, the splay of observers and hoppers making your tail twitch in excitement. Making redstone was fun, but exploring someone else's? especially when not allowed? that was the best.

Eyeing your route down, you begin to slink. Off of the white wool, and down onto a yellow line, then onto an observer, which leads you to a blue line- then you can just put your foot on this extended piston-

CLUNK

Your foot meets nothing but air.

With a screech you plummet- open air surrounds you- your heartbeat fills your head- Eyes screwed shut.

You prepare for respawn.

"OOF- gotcha!"

....You're not dead?

At that realization you open your eyes, ears still pinned back in fear.

A grinning face greets you. Pointed teeth gleaming in the shadowed lighting, dimly glowing blue eyes squinting from the effort. Above that- flickering blue flames leech of his head, calm, content. His presence instantly calms you. Tango.

Going boneless in his arms- he briefly struggles to maintain grip- you sigh.

"I thought I was about to litter my items all over decked out!" You laugh, adrenaline wearing off.

"pft I cant have that! All deathifications must be done inside the dungeon- When the game is actually finished." His tone isn't lost on you, while it was obvious he isn't actually upset, he's scolded you plenty of times for your premature interest in his death game. You crack a guilty smile, trying your best puppy dog eyes.

"Oh i'm sorry- I had no idea! I was just mining and then-"

"Mhm, toootttally." He interrupts, rolling his pupilless eyes. You gasp in offense.

"Hey!- At least let me finish my excuse!"

"I can do whatever I want- I caught you after all." His logic is....sound. He did keep you from losing your levels and well- your head. You sigh, crossing your arms and pouting.

"Fine."

He grins again, starting to walk back towards his storage system- and the exit. Panic fills you, you just got here! you didnt want to leave already, an excuse, you need an- AHA!

"Tannggoooo~" You drawl, leaning further into him, the strange chill that poured from his chest soothing to your warm face. Tango raises an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Yea?"

"Did I mention that I had something for you?"

He squints, debating whether or not it was a ploy.

"No...Is it something I should be concerned about?"

Now its your turn to grin.

"Maaayyybbeeee- do you want it?" You always had a gift for Tango, it was as though every shiny thing you saw reminded you of him, and called to be in his possession. You'd almost say your incessant gift giving was why he kept you around- but he clearly was fond of you too.

Tango huffed, depositing you into one of the plush chairs you pestered him to add into the storage room. It certainly did make it cozier, and he deserves somewhere nice to rest. You pop up, tilting your head. "Is that a no?-"

"I didnt say that-" Tango points an accusing finger at you, "But I still haven't forgotten!" You sigh, flopping over the back of the chair exaggeratedly.

"You give a guy someone else's robotic arm one time!-"

"Doc nearly skinned me!"

"You would make a good rug." You defend. Tango blinks at you a couple times, then sighs, smiling growing.

"Okay fine, i'll bite. What did you get me?"

You grin, wiggling your fingers to summon the blue shulker box you had shoved it into. Painstakingly, you place it down, and slooooowwwly reach for lid-

"Close your eyes~"

Tangos brows furrow in worry, but he obliges, glowing blue pools hidden behind his eyelids. You peel the top of the shulker off and grin inside- your best catch yet. Picking it up delicately, you stand, stepping towards Tango and reaching forwards.

"Open your hands."

He obeys, fingers splayed in curious confusion.

You take half a second to admire the treasure. Shining green surface so smooth and perfect, sturdy and rare. Then, you delicately place it in his hands, and skitter quickly backwards.

His eyes flutter open, brows still furrowed as he takes in the object. Then his face flashes in alarm.

"Oh no- You'll take this back to him this instant!" He thrusts it towards you, and you dodge out of the way. Plucking up the shulker.

"What you don't like it?" You pout, tilting your head and scuttling as he approaches.

"No!" Tango laughs, "Xisuma's glove isn't something you can gift!"

"But he didn't notice! and its shiny and cool!" You protest, unable to hold down the pleased grin splitting your features.

"He will notice! And he'll go looking for it!" Tango insists, trying to corner you, arms held out, flicking the green glove towards you. You weave backwards, matching his every step.

"Nuh uh!" You insist, childishly.

"Yea huh!" Tango replies, giggling. His pure laughter rings in your ears and clenches your heart. Heat rushes to your face- focus, you remind yourself.

Your back meets the wall, and you begin sliding along it, still avoiding taking back the glove. You continue the standoff for a couple seconds- then Tango lunges towards you.

His arms pin either side of you- halting you in your tracks. Pressed against the wall.

"Ha!" He gloats, grinning down at you, "gotcha."

Heat burns your face, your throat closes up, and your knees nearly buckle.

He is gorgeous.

Half lidded blue eyes focused on you, lips parted revealing his pointed fangs while he pants into your space. He seems unaffected, lucky bastard.

Then, a horrible idea.

Slowly, you lean forwards.

"Yep, you got me-" You begin, voice low.

He tenses slightly, breath hitching. For a split second you worry hes uncomfortable, but the sudden addition of deep blue on his face makes your heart soar. "But I haven't even given you the entire gift."

"You...haven't?" He's slightly breathless but manages to keep some suspicion. You nod slowly, now completely in his personal space. Your nose brushes his.

"Nope." You confirm, tilting your head slightly. "Would you like it?"

Theres a beat and you worry he's going to say no- but he nods once. You fight down your grin.

You close the gap- but miss his mouth and press a kiss to the side, just barely brushing lips.

Then, while hes recovering, you duck- weaving out of his arms and sprinting for the bubble elevator up.

"Bye Tango! Enjoy your gift!-" You call, cheeky grin ever present. He sputters.

"You!-" He rushes to the elevator, narrowly missing you as you step in. "I'll have my revenge!" He calls after you.

That's exactly what you were planning on.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft x reader #hermitcraft fandom #hermitblr #atlas writes #hermitcraft fic #tangotek #tangotek x reader #xisumavoid

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kayawolfhorse · 9 months ago

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Day 9 — Stealing Your Breath

—☾—

Fluffy white clouds hang high in the sky over Boatem as a cool breeze cascades down the beginnings of the mountain range, rustling leaves that have just started to turn and clinking the lights strung between buildings. Pearl wraps her hoodie a little tighter around herself as she studies the palettes set before her, swapping out blocks and glancing up at her mega base’s stony outline to consider each one.

Red feels like a natural choice given her lighthouse inspiration, so she’s laid out a variety of red blocks bordering the accents she’s already decided on. For good measure, she’s also tried out a couple alternate schemes, but the wood doesn’t match the grandeur she’s going for, and none of the blues land quite as hard as the deep, fiery tones above them.

“There you are!” a familiar voice exclaims from behind her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Pearl whirls around to see Gem astride Sun, and her grin is as bright as her horse’s namesake.

“Hiya, Gem!” she says. “Whatcha up to?”

“Wanted to see what you were up to.” Leaning forwards in the saddle, Gem scans the palettes. “I like the red.”

“Thanks! I’m planning out my castle’s colors.” Pearl waves a hand vaguely in its direction.

“Oh, yeah, the red will look spectacular.” Gem nods, and her tossled curls dance around her face. “Would you be up for a ride? Sun wanted to stretch his legs, and it’s such a lovely day for it.”

“Totally! I reckon Moon’ll be happy, it’s been a while since I’ve taken her out,” Pearl says, already shoving her excess blocks into a shulker box.

Gem cheers. “I’ll meet you in five?”

Pearl touches two fingers to her brow in a salute before heading for her starter boat.

After all is said and tacked up, they’re off, weaving between Scar’s Swaggons before ducking into the taiga beyond Boatem. The forest is beautiful, but the energy nipping at Pearl’s heels isn’t of unhurried sight-seeing, and the afternoon feels full of boundless opportunity.

Moon’s quick to turn their trot into a comfortable canter, and Pearl winks at Gem as they overtake them. At Gem’s indignation Pearl snorts, and it hardly takes a minute for Sun and Gem to tear past, kicking up dust in their wake.

“Oh, you’re on,” Pearl says, and nudges Moon into a gallop.

The air is fresh and fragrant with pine as it rushes past Pearl’s face. She tucks herself closer to Moon and urges her faster.

They catch up to Gem and race neck-to-neck as spruce trees and boulders fade into the sparse oaks and clusters of cattails of the swamp. Right before the turn into the birch forest, Pearl nudges ahead and breezes past the signpost, the silently agreed upon finish line, and whoops in delight, breathless with it.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Gem concedes, but she’s grinning, too. “Come with me.”

A couple minutes into the forest, Gem eases into a trot and switches off onto a smaller, less trodden path. Following her lead, Pearl has to duck for a few more branches than Gem does and silently thanks the main road for being so well cleared.

The path takes them across a stream that Moon finds delight in wading through before depositing them into a small clearing, completely surrounded by the woods. The meadow rolls in gentle hills dotted with colorful flowers, and at its center is a large, sweeping tree, like the one outside of Gem’s house.

Pearl dismounts and pats Moon on the neck, promising her apples upon their return to Boatem. Gem does much the same with Sun, and they allow the pair to wander back down to the stream as they themselves flop back into the shade of the willow.

“This was fun,” Pearl says after a moment of relishing in the cool earth against her sweaty back.

“It’s been too since we’ve hung out,” Gem says, nudging Pearl with her foot.

“For sure,” Pearl says. “The building bug definitely got to us, didn’t it?”

“Hah! Yeah.”

They discuss plans for their respective bases and the fiddly bits they’re stuck on, interrupted by the occasional glance up to make sure the horses haven’t gone too far. After discussions of pranks they could pull together and which Hermit would go down the easiest in an arm wrestling match, the conversation turns to Hermitcraft itself.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before,” Gem says. “I mean, I’ve been on a couple of servers, and they’ve been great, but there’s just something… different here. A good different, you know?”

“I get that.” Pearl’s been on her fair share of servers, and has seen more amazing sights than she could count; done enough to fill a book or twenty. Hermitcraft is different; special, in some sort of way. “It’s the people, maybe.”

“The community,” Gem supplies.

“It’s like it’s one big family,” Pearl finishes.

Gem tilts her head back and huffs. “That’s not even the end of it! I’ve known close groups like the Hermits, but it’s not the same.”

“You’re right.” Leaning towards Gem, Pearl conspiratorially suggests, “Something in the water? The air? The very blocks we stand upon?”

Gem giggles and swats Pearl away. “I think Bdubs does it. Have you seen his builds? There’s no way he’s using normal ol’ blocks.”

“Oh, definitely,” Pearl says, laughing. “That must be it.”

“Whatever it is, it’s nice,” Gem says. Pearl’s inclined to agree.

Pearl watches the sunlight flit through the willows’ weeping branches and listens to the soft snorts of the horses as they graze. “Do you feel at home yet?”

Gem’s quiet for a moment, and her voice is confident and content when she answers, “I feel more at home than I have in any single place for a long while, I think. What about you?”

The memories that flood Pearl’s mind are bathed in gold, and the affection that bubbles up in her chest is warm. She recounts the Hermits surrounding her and Gem on the very first day, and how she’s learned a little about each one every time they’ve spoken since.

She thinks of Boatem, of Gem, of the fun she’s had and the future she looks towards with excitement, ready to experience everything it has to offer with the people by her side. If the light around her isn’t home, she doesn’t know what else she’d be able to name it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

#falls over dies. at least there’s always themes of home and being a horse girl on main #hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #my writing #hermitfic #definitelynottober #definitelynottober2024

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safeturnip · 8 months ago

Text

acorn-cerning surprise

words: 1.8k

characters: the snails. GeminiTay, Grian, Joel Smallishbeans. (ish. Gem and Grian and Joel are here in spirit)

summary: snail shenanigans!! featuring acorns and Joel's cyberpunk city

AO3 link

***

It was a lovely day on Hermitcraft, and there was a pair of horrible snails.

The intricate machinery of the airship they had been left in rattled and clanked, the heat exuded from the engines warming the polished wood of the room the snails had taken over with their series of challenges. It had been weeks since their latest target had participated in their game, winning back some of his items with a confident promise to return for the rest. He’d never returned, and the snails were bored out of their limited number of brain cells. They weren’t meant for this feeling of idleness, of sitting in place and waiting. The blue snail twitched an eye at its pink companion, who responded by dropping down from the ceiling and making its slimy way towards the door. The snails abandoned their commandeered airship, dropping off the edge and tucking their bodies into their shells to bounce safely off the ground, setting out to find another source of entertainment.

The noontime sun was high in the sky and the snails were sluggish—or snailish, as the case may be—as they sloped their way across the terrain towards the cherry tree–covered plateau in the distance. The landscape unfolded before them, almost overwhelming to such small creatures: Waves of rippling grass, a river that wound its way toward the sea, a giant stone pyramid constructed from shades of black and grey and white. They passed through a small village with palm trees scattered here and there amidst the nondescript brown buildings, where, in the distance, a metal satellite dish on the top of a repurposed fortress caught and reflected the sun.

(They did not go near the ocean that skimmed this village’s edge. There was something about the hidden depths that caused an instinctive, primal dread, even in this pair of molluscs who never felt emotions like fear.)

It was at the area where cyan and red and brown buildings had been built into the side of the mountain behind them, where soil transitioned to salt-crusted wood beneath their feet, that the snails’ journey came to a stop.

Before them was a pile of acorns—not the sort made by squirrels storing food for the winter, more like the sort made by squirrels storing food for several winters, and also the apocalypse. Acorns of all shapes and sizes and colours were all stacked on top of each other: Golden acorns with a proud, glossy sheen; large, dark brown acorns with dull and scratched surfaces; small acorns that were an unripe green, their rough, bristly caps pulled low over their heads. They were piled so precariously atop each other that even the lightest gust of briney wind would cause a cascade of acorns to tumble down and roll across the wooden ground.

As the pair of mischief-seeking snails regarded this shifting pile of acorns, they experienced something truly remarkable: Their shared two brain cells drifting close enough to form a synapse of coherent thought, an extremely rare occurrence for these gastropods. They had a brilliant idea for what to do with this surprise gift they'd happened upon. In unison, two pairs of glassy black eyes rotated towards the nearby cyber-city, with its neon lights and bright colours and skyscrapers that strove determinedly upwards as if they wanted to touch the sun. Perfect.

These snails did not have the means or equipment to move the acorns, did not possess pockets or bags or even shulker boxes, never mind the sheer amount of acorns that had to be moved. And what an amount it was! The acorns must have numbered in the thousands. If the snails could do maths, they would've counted 10,758 precisely; unfortunately they did not have the brain convolutions needed to count that high. All they needed to know—and all that they did know—was that it was truly a staggering amount of acorns, perfect for the mischief they had planned. Yet despite this lack of any form of transport, somehow these clever snails managed to drag their soon-to-be prank all the way around the circumference of the hollowed out mountain to the base of the colourful, cramped city.

(If these snails had a working memory, they would have thought back wistfully to their getaway helicopter that they’d used to steal someone’s diamonds ages ago. Unfortunately, they had the memory of a river stone: nonexistent.)

Like the snails, the city was a nocturnal organism, slowly shaking itself to life as the sun dipped below the horizon. Lights blinked open and flickered on in the dark, heat emanated from buildings and caused the cool evening air to shimmer, electricity raced and tumbled over itself through the glass tubing of neon signs. The quiet of the night made the ceaseless sounds of the city even more apparent; the murmur of pipes that spanned both the height and width of buildings, the whisper of curtains being whisked shut in penthouses at the top of the tallest skyscrapers, the low creak of window shutters drifting open and shut. The city was built in a fashion where—because it had no space to expand outward—it was forced to instead extend upward like a tree whose roots had split open the rock face of a mountain after finding no more room to grow. Buildings were nestled so close together that they seemed to merge into one huge mass of concrete and metal, until you looked closer and spotted the narrow, winding alleyways that separated them.

Once the sun had fully set, the snails got to work.

They went about their task silently and wordlessly—there was no other way a snail could do a task, after all, owing to the absence of vocal cords or teeth or a palate. Knowing that its wormy companion was still very new, the blue snail took the lead, demonstrating where best to deposit acorns in places that would be the most annoying. Acorns scattered in the middle of footpaths to catch unsuspecting feet, stuffed between wooden planks of building walls directly at eye level so that they would be impossible to miss, handfuls placed precariously on narrow railings so that they would tumble to the ground in a cheerful clatter if someone brushed close by them. The pink snail caught on quickly.

The snails were in no rush. They knew the creator of this city was occupied by the game far away in the shopping district of water and ravagers, lily pads and the tranquil glow of froglights. It was highly likely that they would have the entire night to lay out this prank, and maybe even part of the morning too, if they needed.

Underneath the glow of neon lights, the snails glided over this ecosystem of concrete and metal and glass and stone, depositing acorns as they went. Trails of slime were left everywhere in their wake, less so incriminating evidence forgotten behind by an amateur and more of a calling card placed deliberately at the scene of a crime. Acorns were stuck in the canvas banners that hung along the sides of storefronts, tucked into the dress folds of a statue of an ancient ocean goddess, dropped into the pools of the bath house and the ponds in the gardens dotted around the city. Acorns were placed in the eye sockets and mouths of the horse heads that decorated a fountain built before a glowing purple portal, hidden in the many, many chests scattered in the streets and buildings. The blue snail even left an acorn in a beehive located in the honey farm, and was almost stung by a very angry bee in the process. The snails stayed away from the beehives after that.

Despite having no hands or fingers, the snails were still able to place acorns in the most dexterous of places, like between books placed tightly together in bookshelves and along the tops of door frames. What talented molluscs! Anyone watching them work would be impressed.

About halfway through the night, the blue snail began crawling up the gate that separated this cyber-city from its neighboring cyber-city, its pink friend following closely behind. The gate was a towering giant of deep red wood and dark stone, with ends that curved upwards toward the sky like the fingers of a cupped hand. At the top of the gate, the blue snail began to lay out a line of acorns—not the smartest idea, seeing as how a strong wind would immediately blow all the acorns off the gate. If snails could roll their eyes, that was what the pink snail would be doing right now. But, due to the lack of eye sockets and extraocular muscles, the most it could do was wiggle its eye stalks around. Its friend continued to deposit acorns along the topmost part of the gate, unbothered, moisturized, happy, in its lane, focused, and flourishing.

(As this liberal distribution of acorns went on, the wormy snail began to do the dastardly thing of wedging everything that could be wedged open with an acorn, sticking acorns into the hinges of doors and windows in a way that let them close only halfway. The blue snail was so proud.)

The pesky snails were beginning to run out of both acorns and places to hide said acorns. They crammed the mailbox full to the brim with acorns, popped acorns into the pockets of the workers in the industrial buildings, who merely side-eyed the snails and hummed in disgruntlement, and—oh no, they’d managed to get an acorn wedged in the mechanism of the glow berry farm. Oh well. No one ever bought glow berries anyways.

The moon continued its journey across the sky, and the stock of acorns continued to dwindle down into nothing, signaling the completion of this snail acorn prank. This snailcorn prank.

Finally, as the sun began to drift upwards and the sky lightened to shades of peach and lavender and pink, the job was done. Nestled in the hand of the giant gorilla armour stand perched at the top of a skyscraper, the two snails took a brief moment to admire their work: Hundreds and hundreds of acorns scattered and littered and tucked away in every imaginable nook and cranny of this towering electric city. Even with their limited intelligence, the snails knew that this prank didn’t seem especially impressive or aggravating right now. No, the fun will start when the owner of this city finds the acorns. When he will continue to find the acorns. And it seemed for a brief moment that they wished—well, not wished, exactly, they didn’t have the mental capacity for that—they had a flicker, beginning, suggestion of thought about having a set of lungs and a diaphragm like a human in order to laugh themselves to stitches over their job well done.

Through a bob of a pink head and an answering downward tilt of a blue shell, the two gastropods seemed to come to an understanding. It was time to return to their snaily airship for a well-deserved nap.

And in the distance, there and gone so fast that it could be dismissed as a trick of the light, was a flutter of wings and a flash of bright orange hair.

#ngl this was just an excuse for me to wax poetry abt joel smallishbeans' base. everyone subscribe to smallishbeans rn #geminitay #grian #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 10 #hc10 #hermitblr #mywriting

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desceros · 1 year ago

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I'm guessing by your banner that you also like Minecraft sooooo, turtle Minecraft headcannons to spare please 🥺? Just in general, all the Donnie's are definitely into Minecraft. I feel like all the rise turtles are also definitely into Minecraft and Leo, mikey and Donnie all had a big Minecraft phase in their childhood and maybe they still play multiplayer with each other when their bored and have nothing better to do. Maybe gaming headcannons in general for the turtles?

i play it for like. a week once a year. then i get distracted by something else and forget i was playing. this cycle repeats once every twelve months. the neo-mayan calendar.

i'll do rise specifically bc im feeling soft for it rn

donnie loves fiddling with command blocks to set up the server, and he loves setting up fun traps for his brothers. he's huge into redstone and builds amazing contraptions. his base is one where you have to fall through lava to get inside, and he has, like. fifty secret rooms for all his loot. he has the most optimum selection of armor and always wears his elytra so he can fly out of trouble. he has 500 cats at every build so creepers can't come by and blow them up.

raph loves the combat. he never uses a shield bc it makes it 'too easy.' at any given moment, the lower left hand of the screen is filled with his death messages. he also loves the exploration part, and he's always sending coordinates for interesting things for people to check out later. his base is a dirt box with a single bed and one chest filled with some string, a single diamond, four pieces of steak, a dark oak slab, a soul strider book, and two brown mushrooms. full netherite armor (mostly bc he keeps dying in the nether and everyone got tired of him burning through all their diamonds, so they pulled together and farmed up enough netherite to give him something that wouldn't burn up)

mikey is the builder on the server. he likes to beautify things and terraform, and his base is a custom mountain valley he built in the middle of a flower forest biome. he can make every block look good. raph's house actually makes him angry, like legit, but raph won't let him pretty it up for him. he dies to creepers a lot bc he never remembers to light up his builds, and they sneak up on him while he's listening to music and building. he wears unenchanted iron armor (except when donnie forces some blast protection iv on his ass) except for his feather falling iv diamond boots.

leo's here for the mining. he loves collecting shit and bringing it back home. he'll go out with an inventory of shulker boxes, stuff 'em full, then bring them home and go back out again. he's the spine of the server; sitting afk at the witch farm so donnie can get enough redstone, going out and getting more terracotta so mikey can finish his trading hall, and helping raph collect his shit when he dies in the end and oh god maybe his elytra landed on the side???? he'll also put on a playlist and just strip mine for hours until he runs through his fourth diamond pickaxe and has to go to the gold farm to repair it up. never upgrades to netherite armor because the diamond armor is blue.

#ask tag #fragment tag #i actually prefer terraria over minecraft but that's such a funny picture i don't know if i'll ever be able to change it

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em-mermaid · 2 years ago

Text

Hot Damn, What a Cuteguy

“Mumby? Can you help me with the zipper?”

“Erm yes, I’m coming” he responds, before placing a kiss on Scar’s temple and standing up. He looks down in time to see Scar’s smile grow into something too innocent, too knowing. Squinting his eyes suspiciously, he drops his voice to a whisper. “What did you do, you silly man?”

or: Mumbo gets to be very gay about his partner in a superhero outfit

(read on AO3)

—————

It is a calm afternoon in their shared home. Mumbo is lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the nearby table as he glances down at Grian. His head rests on Mumbo’s legs, eyes shining behind round glasses as he excitedly talks about plans for a new project. To Mumbo, Grian’s voice always sounds like music. Today was no exception.

Grian’s melodic monologue fills the air and is conducted, as always, by his strong and gentle hands moving in time to his words. Mumbo basks in the tenor tones floating over him, as he looks out the window across Scarland and lets his mind wander.

This truly was the perfect spot for them to build a home. A cozy place nestled comfortably in one of the castle towers for the three of them to relax and just be together. A home that was theirs.

Mumbo looks down when Grian laughs. Their eyes meet and Mumbo smiles, moving to gently brush his hand through Grian’s hair. Everyday he is thankful that the beautiful man in his lap agreed to be theirs.

He is pulled back to the present as the tone of Grian’s voice shifts to something quiet and teasing. “Mumbo Jumbolio, are you even listening to me?”

“Erm… uh, not really?” He stammers weakly, face heating up in embarrassment.

Grian smiles up at him, hand moving to softly caress Mumbo’s cheek. “What’s on your mind?”

He leans into Grian’s hand, cherishing the gentle touch. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am that you’re mine.”

“Oh, you sap.” Grian laughs, leaning up and using the hand on Mumbo’s cheek to guide him down into a sweet kiss. As they part, Mumbo hears the front door open in the other room.

“Oh Grian!” Scar sings as he comes in. “Where are you my sweet songbird?”

Mumbo watches as Grian rolls his eyes fondly, before calling back. “We’re in here, Scar!” He returns to resting on his head on Mumbo’s lap as they listen to their partner take off his shoes in the chair by the door.

After a minute, there is a quiet grunt followed by the soft click of a cane coming down the hall.

Scar beams when he enters the room. His long hair is pulled back into a pair of loose braids that rest behind his shoulders and the sleeves of his navy blue work shirt are rolled up to his elbows. A bright pink shulker rests under the arm not holding his cane.

He smiles at Mumbo before focusing his gaze on Grian. “You know you are the cutest man in the world, right?” Scar asks, tucking his cane under his arm and holding out the shulker.

Grian’s face lights up in excitement as he quickly sits up. “Is it what I think it is?”

“Go try it on my beloved songbird.”

Grian beams, jumping up off the couch to wrap his arms around Scars neck and giving him a quick kiss. “Thank you, thank you!” They watch as he grabs the box and takes off down the hall towards the bathroom.

Mumbo looks up at Scar, amused, as they hear the door close. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, it’s something he’s been wanting for a while,” Scar says with a grin.

Mumbo chuckles at the statement as he watches Scar walk around the table to rest his cane against the arm of the couch before plopping down next to him, immediately melting into his side. “That doesn’t tell me anything, love.”

Scar tilts his head up to look at Mumbo with a smile. “The surprise will be worth it, my dear. I think it is something you’ll enjoy as much as me and Grian.”

“I still don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Mumbo leans in to rest his cheek on Scar’s hair, loosely lacing their fingers together and using his thumb to slowly trace small circles into his tanned skin. They fall into a comfortable silence, basking in the warm embrace before they hear Grian call out to them from the bathroom.

“Mumby? Can you help me with the zipper?”

“Oh nothing, nothing.” He whispers back with a wave of a hand and a wink. “Just try not to enjoy it too much, I want to see the outfit too.”

Mumbo feels his face heat up. “What does that even mean?”

Scar only smiles and gestures towards the bathroom.

Baffled, Mumbo stands from the couch and walks down the hall. He takes a breath before lightly knocking on the bathroom door.

“Yes Mumbo you can come in,” Grian responds fondly.

He opens the door, briefly catching a glimpse of a smirk reflected in the mirror in front of him before—

Pink.

Pink from head to toe.

Grian wearing a bright pink, skin tight, long-sleeved leotard.

He is distantly aware of his jaw dropping open as his eyes trail up and down Grian’s body to take in the sight before him.

The leotard is beautifully made and leaves all of Grian’s perfectly toned muscles on full display. It hugs softly along the length of his arms, emphasizes the slight curve of his waist, and stretches gently around his strong thighs before wrapping comfortably around his ankles.

But the thing Mumbo’s eyes are drawn to more than anything else is the open zipper along the full length of Grian’s spine and the smooth pale skin visible beyond it. Goodness he wants to touch. To feel the soft material under his hands and the shift of strong muscles underneath. His fingers twitch with indecision, before he settles for fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Enjoying the view?” Grian asks, playfully shaking his hips. Mumbo attempts to stammer his way through any sort of response, deliberately ignoring the reflection of his own very red face.

Grian laughs lightly and reaches back towards Mumbo with one of his hands. “Come here, love.”

Cautiously, Mumbo steps forward taking his hand, allowing his own to be placed on the small of Grian’s back. The material is soft and shifts slightly as he runs his hand down towards the bottom of the zipper.

His hands shake as he hesitantly takes the zip, carefully avoiding touching the top of Grian’s underwear right behind it. Slowly, he zips upward, the sound almost as loud as his beating heart. His other hand trails behind, following the path upward holding down the fabric until they meet at the top. Task complete.

He doesn’t want to let go.

They make eye contact through the mirror when Mumbo finally finds his words. They slip through his lips, the sound no louder than a whispered breath. “You look incredible.”

There is an intensity to Grian’s gaze as Mumbo rests his hands on the pink fabric of his shoulders. Before he can think too much into the expression, Grian is turning to grab his collar, pulling him down into a deep kiss.

Mumbo makes a small noise of surprise before melting into him. The soft lips pressed firmly against his own are warm and familiar and yet he knows this is something that will never get old. His hands, dislodged during the sudden movement, find new purchase on Grian’s shoulder blades before trailing down the soft fabric on his back. Grian’s hands move up, tangling into his hair and pulling him even closer.

It’s over too soon. They break apart, breathing heavily into the small space between them. Grian smiles up at him. “Thanks for the help, Mumby.”

“Anytime,” he rasps between unsteady breaths.

“Ok, I have to put the rest of this outfit on now,” Grian says, nudging him to turn around before pushing him out the door. “The rest is still a surprise.”

He blinks as the door closes behind him. “Oh, right.”

His feet carry him back towards the living room on auto pilot as questions begin to bounce around in his mind.

Grian had called him into the room to help him with the zipper, but why not Scar, who had given him the box? Was it because Scar already knew what it was? But then Grian had kicked him out after he zipped up the outfit anyway, so it wasn’t just for that. And, oh gosh, of course it is only now that he remembers Grian is fairly flexible and can usually zip up his own outfits. Was the whole plan just to fluster him? Grian had been smirking, so that was probably his intention. Well, that was normal for Grian, he supposed. And, then, perhaps the most confusing question of all—

Scar barks out a laugh, startling him out of his thoughts. “Well don’t you look dashing!”

“Huh?” His eyes move to focus on Scar instead of the wall in front of him.

Scar’s face lights up with a grin and Mumbo watches as his eyes scan him up and down before landing on his ruffled hair. “I see you enjoyed yourself in there, hmm?”

Mumbo furrows his eyebrows, not fully processing Scars words as he tries to piece everything together. When he speaks, his words come out quiet and slightly strangled. “Scar, why is Grian in pink?”

“It’s his Cuteguy uniform!” Scar exclaims, opening his arms towards Mumbo and beckoning for him to come closer. “I made it for him so he can fight crime as Hotguy’s second in command.”

“Hotguy?” Mumbo steps forward and sinks onto the couch next to him, slouching to rest his head on Scar’s shoulder as he accepts the embrace. “Oh, is that the hero thing you were telling me about?”

He feels Scar nod and gently move to brush a hand through his disheveled hair.

They hear the bathroom door open. Scar perks up, looking enthusiastically towards the hall. When Grian comes into view, Mumbo forgets how to breathe.

Grian is still wearing the pink leotard. Only now does Mumbo notice the simple blue and orange Hotguy symbol embroidered onto Grian’s chest. The stitches are a bit uneven and wobbly, but it is clear the amount of care went into making sure each one would lay flat along the fabric.

Along with the leotard, he sports a pair of black high top sneakers painted with thin blue and orange stripes along each of the sides. His lips are pinker than usual, a combination of their earlier kiss and some newly applied lip gloss.

Grian grins at them and strikes a pose. “Well, how do I look?”

“Even more stunning than I imagined, my dear.” Scar replies easily, softly dislodging Mumbo from his shoulder as he leans forward on the couch. “Come here? I want to make sure everything fits perfectly.”

Grian shifts the coffee table out of the way so he can stand in front of Scar. Their knees touch as Scar reaches out to lightly hold Grian’s wrists as he checks the length of the sleeves. Mumbo assumes whatever he’s checking is to his liking when Scar hums in satisfaction.

Scar’s fingers trail up to Grian’s chest, almost reverent when he brushes them across the Hotguy logo.

“Turn so I can check out your back?”

Mumbo coughs in surprise at the same time Grian exclaims, “Scar! Wording!”

“What?” Scar looks up with feigned innocence, “I want to make sure it fits!”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, Grian turns so Scar can see the back of the outfit. Mumbo watches as Scar traces along the collar and then down the seam of the zipper. When he reaches the bottom of the zipper he smirks and squeezes Grian’s butt, startling a yelp from him.

“Scar!” Grian scolds as he turns to face his two partners who are now howling with laughter. “Do you really want to start this?”

“Start what?” He asks through the giggles.

With a smirk, Grian pushes Scar back on the couch and climbs forward to straddle his lap, giving Mumbo a wink as he does.

Scar looks him up and down. “Oh-ho-ho is that what you meant, pretty bird? I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

“Oh shush, you” he replies before wrapping his arms around Scar’s shoulders and kissing him deeply. It’s a sight Mumbo knows he will always love.

When they part, Grian stays close to place a small kiss on Scar’s cheek. “I love it, thank you.”

Scar beams triumphantly. “Anything for you, my beautiful songbird.”

With that, Grian smiles and flops sideways into Mumbo’s lap, shimmying his way into the small gap between them and tucking his face into Scar’s neck. “Then cuddle me.”

Mumbo chuckles and angles himself to wrap one arm loosely around Grian’s waist and the soft fabric of his costume. He uses the other arm, which is still laying along Scar’s shoulders to give him a small squeeze as Scar leans into them from Grian’s other side.

Mumbo closes his eyes as the three of them settle. Scar begins to talk about his ideas for Cuteguy’s first velocitae lessons as Grian shakes with laughter. As Mumbo drifts off to their playful banter he thinks, maybe it could be worth it to learn more about this superhero thing.

#mumscarian #hermitshipping #mumbo jumbo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumscarianweek #day2prompt #ignore that this took me 4 months to write #better late than never ya know?#mermaid writes #hermitfic

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arthropod-concoctions · 2 years ago

Text

(AO3 - prev)

Martyn swiped his finger across a page of the enchanted book, sketching a pose, and watching as the armor stand in front of him mimicked it. He took his finger off the paper with a flourish, and the stand froze, staying in position. It wasn't a particularly impressive pose, but Martyn smiled proudly anyways.

“This thing is awesome,” he said to Joe, who had flown in to drop yet another shulker box full of various types of stone at Cleo's doorstep. Ze said that they would know what to do with it; somehow, Martyn doubted that. “You wouldn't happen to know how to replicate it, would you?”

“Oh, that's easy, just take a book and title it `Statues',” Joe replied. Around zir head floated a rainbow of small multicoloured eyes that stared directly at Martyn.

“Right,” Martyn said, looking back at the eyes. That sounded like far too easy a process to be possible on just any server. He tried not to be too disappointed; he wouldn't have had any time for making statues in the Life games anyways, and, well, where else was he gonna do it?

“And another thing... do you know if Cleo has a change of clothes stashed anywhere?”

Joe hesitated for a moment. “...In their cross-server inventory, probably?”

“Sure, but I'd feel weird just digging through that. And I had a look around this block of skyscrapers here, but I couldn't find a wardrobe or anything.”

“Oh, fair enough. Well, I don't know about Cleo, but you can borrow some of my clothes if you want?”

“Sure. Do you have anything in green?”

Joe smiled and looked at Martyn through zir green glasses, and Martyn looked at zir green fingerless gloves and green hairtie and felt a bit silly for asking. “Oh, I've got a few things. I'll be right back!”

---

Half an hour later, Martyn was standing next to a shulker box overflowing with clothes, dressed in... not the most ostentations outfit he'd ever worn, considering a certain December MCC, but it was probably in the top ten. Cleo was a bit taller than Joe, so most of the clothes left the belly exposed, but Martyn had managed to find a chroma green pinstripe suit that fit well enough. He stepped out of the room in Cleo's base he'd used to dress up, and made eye contact with Joe, whose face lit up.

“Found something you like?” ze said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Martyn replied, laughing. “I feel like I'm ready to play for the Lime Llamas with this fit.”

“I don't watch sports, but yeah, I think you look great!”

The two of them walked out into Cleo's courtyard, where someone was waiting for them; someone who appeared to be a blue slime in a hoodie and jogging pants.

The slime looked at Martyn and stifled a laugh. “Wow, looks like I chose the right day to go check on Cleo's replacement,” they said, then held out a slimy hand- more like a stump, really, Martyn couldn't make out separate fingers. “I'm Jevin. Nice to meet you.”

“Martyn,” Martyn responded. He tried to shake Jevin's 'hand', but only ended up slapping against it before Jevin withdrew it. It had the consistency of a water balloon. “You're a friend of Cleo's?”

“Uh- yeah, a friend. Totally. Mhm, we're best friends,” Jevin replied, nodding. “That's why I'm here. Friendly reasons.”

“Right. Friendly reasons. Definitely not `collecting blackmail material for Cleo' reasons.”

“Exactly! See, you get it,” Jevin said cheerfully. Martyn looked at Joe, who shrugged. Zir rainbow eyes shot a few glances at Jevin occasionally, but most remained trained on him. Suddenly, Joe gasped.

“Wait, I haven't even shown you the best feature of this outfit yet!” ze said, then began rummaging through zir inventory. Eventually ze pulled out a strange flashlight of sorts. “Check this out!”

Ze shone the light on Martyn; he looked down to realise his body had vanished. From the neck down, all of his body which was covered by green fabric was completely invisible.

Martyn laughed deviously. “Oh, that's fantastic. Say, can I borrow that light for a bit?”

“Sure,” Joe said, handing Martyn the flashlight. “As long as you bring it back by the end of the day.”

“Yeah, I can do that, no problem,” Martyn replied, then went back into his little changing room. After some rummaging, he found a piece of fabric big enough to cover his head, protesting snakes included; then, he pulled out his chat and began typing a message.

<ZombieCleo> Tim, where you at?

<Tango> the shopping district

<Tango> zedaph's giving me a tour

<ZombieCleo>coords?

Taking the makeshift mask with him, he went outside to meet Joe and Jevin again. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a rancher to prank.”

He shot a glare at Jevin, who appeared to be taking a picture of him, then took off flying with Cleo's elytra.

Despite receiving precise coordinates from Jimmy, Martyn had quite some trouble locating him and his new friend in the shopping district. Partly because the district in question was a headache-inducing mess to fly over, and partly because all of Tango's distinctive physical features were now blue for some reason.

He gently glid down to the ground, careful not to make any noise, and landed behind Jimmy and a blond Hermit who he guessed must be Zedaph. He'd been shining Joe's flashlight onto himself, rendering him entirely invisible except for his hand. He trailed behind the two of them, slowly closing the gap. Eventually he could hear what Zedaph was saying:

“And this is the hole where... Actually, I have no idea what this hole is for. It wasn't here last time I went shopping. There's hoppers at the bottom... d'you reckon we should throw something in, see what happens?”

“You know, Zed, this tour isn't very good,” Jimmy said. His accent was unmistakeable, even in Tango's voice, which didn't seem to have changed with his colouration.

Martyn was right behind them at this point, so he spoke up: “Yeah. Zero stars.”

Jimmy yelled out and whirled around, flailing his arms about in a panic. His arm collided with Zedaph's, and expelled some kind of red flash; then, Zedaph yelped too.

Martyn began laughing, pulling the cloth off of his face and pointing the flashlight down. “Oh, that was beautiful,” he said between laughs.

“Wh- Cleo- Martyn- how did you- what are you wearing?” Jimmy sputtered.

“More importantly, what were you thinking?” Zedaph added, rubbing his arm where he'd collided with Jimmy. “Do you know how annoying redstone burns are to heal?”

“Sorry, Zed,” Martyn said. “Didn't mean for you to become collateral. Hi. I'm Martyn, by the way.” Martyn extended his hand to Zedaph, who crossed his own arms, pointedly not shaking his.

“Wait-- sorry, Zed, by the way-- what do you mean 'redstone burn'?” Jimmy said.

“Well, you know, with Tango's redstonyness... he never zapped you on accident?”

Jimmy shook his head. Martyn piped up: “Wait, are you saying Tango just has redstone tasers hidden up his sleeves at all times?”

“No- he- because he's a redstone sprite, guys come on!” Zedaph exclaimed, clearly expecting Martyn and Jimmy to know this.

“I didn't know that,” Jimmy replied immediately.

Zedaph looked at Jimmy, looking very offended on Tango's behalf. “Seriously? You were married to him, and you didn't even-”

“We were not married!” Jimmy interrupted him. “We were soulmates, not-”

“About the same thing, isn't it? Still, not a very good soulmate if you didn't even know what species he is.”

“I thought he was just a regular guy!”

“He has red eyes!” Zedaph and Martyn said in unison.

“Not anymore though, they're blue now,” Martyn added. “Zed, what's up with that anyways? Why does Hermitcraft get the blue raspberry flavoured Tango?”

“Because of...” Zedaph trailed off, then sighed, and pinched his nose. “You know, I figured because you were his husband- soulmate, whatever-” he waved a hand at Jimmy, who's opened his mouth to protest- “I could skip the `introduction to Tango' part of this tour. But I guess not! Follow me, let's turn this tour around.”

#arthropod writes #the swap au #martyn inthelittlewood #joe hills #ijevin #jimmy solidarity #zedaph #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft #double life smp #break in my college schedule means i could finish up a new chapter!

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tiny-minecraft-rabbit · 2 years ago

Text

Day 4: Shrink Ray

Using my own prompt list: here. You can also read this and every prompt as they come on AO3.

Summary:

Zed has a super fun and awesome new challenge for Tango. It does require some.. size adjustments!

"Tango! Tango! Tango!"

"Zed! Zed! Zed!" Tango repeated, chuckling as he let the shulker box closed, standing for his friend. "What can I do for you buddy?"

Zed had a grin that meant something very silly and very fun was about to happen, which was the usual expression Zed had. It was pretty fantastic having a friend like him.

"You're going to love this one," he insisted, hands flapping at his side, "Wanna follow me?"

Tango glanced down at his shulker box and the project of redstone behind him. He really should get this finished… but a few hours working with Zed was worth it. "Yeah, hold on," he broke away the shulker box and set it back into an enderchest. Once everything was just tidy enough that it wouldn't be overwhelming to return to he took Zedaph's hand.

Surprisingly Zed didn't lead him back to his base, instead leading him underground. The facility was made of concrete and quartz, purposefully looking sterile and like a mad scientist lab, though it only seemed to be a long hallway that led to a small room with a gray stained glass window that looked into a large room. Inside the large room was a giant thing with a big red X painted on the floor where it was pointed, and to the side was a small maze, made for something about the size of a frog or even an endermite, with a cake sat in the middle.

Tango couldn't help the giggles, "Well this isn't ominous at all!"

"I know right! Very comforting. There's even cake!" Zed replied with a grin, flipping a lever and the bright overhead lights turned on, "Now, Tango, I think you know where I want you."

"I can take a guess. Do I- Do I get to know what you're going to be blasting me with?"

"You'll know very soon. Right this way," Zed said in lieu of explaining, opening an iron door and standing aside to let Tango through first.

Anybody but Zed Tango would be turning the other direction and running for the hills, but there was always something so fun with Zed's tasks or experiments. Even if he ended up dead he would die laughing and cheering. He stepped through the iron door, barely containing a yelp as it slammed shut behind him, and walked down the few stairs (there was a bed at the bottom and he set his spawn) and into the big room.

He waved to Zed through the window and stood a few steps to the left of the red X, "Here?"

He could see Zed's exasperated sighing and giggled. "To the right, Tango! On the X! Come on, you got the easy part. For now, that is."

Tango raised an eyebrow as that but swiftly moved over on top of the X, "Okay. Okay. Here then?"

"Perfect! Now I need you to stand very still. I'be only tested this on sheep so far, and if they wriggled too much they died," Zed explained as he pressed a button in front of him.

His laughter got slightly more nervous, "Noted! Staying still."

The machine started lighting up, flashing a spiral of blues and purple, and humming lowly as it powered up. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was going to occur, but the pure yellow beam of light completely washed over him. He looked down, observing his arms and legs, trying to see what it was doing to him; if it was giving him polka dots or turing his outfit into a bright pink leotard. On the surface it didn’t look like it was doing anything. He looked up at Zedaph through the observation window to see him grinning, so it must of been working. He looked back at the machine– and then he had to look up at the machine, cause it was significantly larger than it was a moment ago. Another glance at Zed, and then the rest of the room, proved just what he thought, everything else had gotten proportionally bigger as well.

Or, well, he had gotten a lot smaller.

He burst into excited laughter as the machine turned off, “Zed! What? How!?”

“The power of science, my friend!” he answered through the intercom. He pointed towards the maze at the side of the room, “Please enter, would you? There should be a ladder on the back.”

“You’ve turned me into a lab rat!” Tango accused as he made his way over to the maze. He climbed the ladder quickly. The walls of the maze that he could have easily seen over just moments ago towered over him, and he wished he had thought to memorize it’s layout (but to be fair there was no way he could have known he was going to be in the maze).

“You have one minute to get through! After one minute I’ll be adding a endermite for every thirty seconds you take, understand?”

“Endermites? Wait- Wait- What’s the point of this challenge? Why am I doing this?”

“Your timer starts-” Zed grinned, completely ignoring Tango, “Now!”

“Oh geez,” Tango sighed before racing through the maze. He had a somewhat good idea where to go, but it was a lot bigger and trickier than he thought it was going to be.

The minute passed before he was even halfway through, a note block chiming above him. There was the sound something like a gate opening and the chitters of a endermite echoed through the walls. He ran faster. Then another thirty seconds, still no end to the maze, and another endermite entered. Then another.

It was two minutes and seven seconds in when he ran into an endermite, the bug that usually only ticked one heart of damage grabbed a hold of his leg and suddenly he was half health. He barely got a chance to scream before the second grab

He sat upright in the bed, laughing as he did. He was back to his usual size, which was expected, Zed didn’t have admin abilities. He couldn’t change his code so casually, this was more akin to a potion or beacon effect. He quickly made his way back into the middle of the room.

“That was amazing!” He shouted up at Zed before yelping as an endermite bit him on the ankle. He crushed it under his foot on impulse. (He did not think about how it was possible that was the endermite that killed him and how easy it was to smash something so small.)

“Glad you enjoyed! Ready for round two?” Zed asked, hand already on the lever.

Tango nodded, taking a step back onto the red X. “Let’s do this!”

#tangotek #zedaph #hermitcraft #hermitcraft g/t #mcyt g/t #october prompts #smalltober #rabbit writes #tiny tangotek #giant zedaph

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