Hermitober 2020

by Goldstone_Wolf

Summary:

A bunch of Hermitcraft whump because I got bored. I made up the prompt list myself on the fifth when I realised that this was Whumptober and originally it was going to be Dream Team but then I decided against it and went with the hermits. TWs in the tags! (Also, no notes for chapter one, sorry.)

Chapter 1: 0-Chapter Index

 

[x] =finished [-] =Placeholder/unfinished [ ]= not begun

 

1. Chapter Index [YOU ARE HERE] [x]
2. Night Terror [x]
3. Suffocation/Buried Alive [x]
4. Falling [x]
5. Burn [x]
6. Passing Out [x]
7. Touch Starved [x]
8. Electrocution [x]
9. Shot Down [x]
10. Raid Turned Raze [x]
11. Bad Jokes [x]
12. Bruises [x]
13. Switchblade [x]
14. Can’t Breathe [Horror/Movie Night Gone Wrong] [x]
15. Frostbite/Drowning [x]
16. Heatstroke/Fever [x]
17. Zombie Spawn Camp [x]
18. Whipped [x]
19. Broken Bones [x]
20. Prank Turned Pain Preview I Guess
21. Scars [x]
22. Hands (Shaking/Bloody) [x]
23. Creeper [x]
24. In the Heights [x]
25. Hospital [x]
26. Dysphoria/Dysmorphia [x]
27. It’s a Mental Breakdown [x]
28. Dangling/Rope Burn [x]
29. (A new fic chapter will soon appear!)
30. Vines [x]
31. Rescue Mission/Lost [x]
32. Full Circle [x]
33. Also under construction 

Hi! Wolf here from 2021! New chapters will be out soon, which is why this is being updated and changed! Some chapters will be wonky as a result!

Chapter 2: 1-Night Terror

Summary:

Ten of the Hermits are having a sleepover when Grian suddenly has a night terror. None of them quite understand what to do—they just know they need to help.

Notes:

Welcome to Whumptober. Read the frickin tags for TWs. Likely to have sporadic updates due to school and the fact I have to read and edit roughly six or seven hundred pages of writing for my actual job. All works with days that were previous to when they were actually published have notes that were prewritten and will thus have no responses to anyone. Feel free to comment, subscribe, kudos, etc.

          It was a lovely night for a hangout, and the hermits were doing exactly that.

          Currently, they (“they” meaning Grian, Mumbo, Scar, Cleo, False, Stress, Zedaph, Impulse, Tango, and shockingly Xisuma) were all in their temporary setup in the shopping district. There were some other hermits out and about on the server, but they were all either AFK or simply doing their own thing. If any of them wanted to join, they absolutely could. Nothing was stopping them, anyways. They had couches and blankets, a ton of books to read, and enough snacks to feed a large village.

          Yawning, Xisuma leaned into Mumbo and let his head rest on his friend’s shoulder. Mumbo smiled, reached over, and ruffled the admin’s hair. Scar was on Mumbo’s other side, reading some magic book or other with one hand and having one of his magic crystals float above his other palm. Sparks of pale orange light danced around the small prism, but no one really paid any attention to that. It was normal. The members of the ZIT team were all lying on each other like cats on the couch, and Cleo was doing False’s hair nearby. Meanwhile, Stress was jokingly braiding Grian’s hair while he laid with his head in her lap, half-dozing and half-reading.

          His book fell to the side as he drifted off, and everyone looked to Grian. “Hes so cute.” Stress murmured when they were sure he was asleep. “Like a little puppy.”

          “Definitely.” Chuckling, Xisuma closed his eyes and let himself sink into Mumbo a little bit more. A few quiet hours passed and some of the other hermits came by (Bdubs, Doc, Cub, even Ren despite how busy the man was).

          Ren had just left to go continue working when Grian let out a small whimper.

          Glancing down at their friend, Stress looked to the others. They’d all stirred for midnight snacks, except for him. “Do you think he’s having a nightmare?”

          “Maybe. Don’t wake him.” Everyone looked to Mumbo, and he continued, “It’s not the best thing to wake someone from a nightmare, it can freak them out.”

          Getting up, False began making some tea. A few moments passed, and Grian sucked in a few quick breaths before turning his head. A few mumbled words left him. “Grian?” Stress petted his hair, and he flinched and started murmuring to himself. Or maybe it was someone else—none of them were sure.

          None of them were expecting him to start begging, either.

          “Sam—no—no, no—” Whimpering and shoulders shaking, he turned his head a few times. “Sam.”

          “Grian? Grian, you’re okay.” She touched his shoulder and he jerked violently, grabbing her wrist. Crying out, Stress yanked away. Voice shaking, she glanced at the others. “I don’t—I don’t know what—” His breathing quickened, and an expression somewhere between horror and pain twisted his pale features. After a moment, Mumbo realised that the light from their lanterns was reflecting off of a thin layer of sweat coating their friend’s face.

          That’s not good, he realised with a start, frowning. “Does anyone know how to handle…whatever this is?”

          “It’s a night terror.” Zedaph explained, a haunted look to his eyes. “You don’t exactly handle them, especially when you don’t know how the person having one will react.” Grian was still murmuring about someone called Sam, begging him to stop and to not hurt someone else.

          Whoever this Sam was, Mumbo hoped that he got the chance to meet them, if only so no one else could ever again.

          Especially Grian.

          The whole mood of the room had changed over the course of a few minutes. Impulse took Zedaph for a short walk, something about “needing to get some air” and wanting “someone to walk with”. The look he sent Tango said otherwise, and the blond sat by Grian’s head and reached to stroke his hair before hesitating. A few weak whimpers shook Grian’s chest. Mumbo swore he saw a few tears running down his cheeks.

          None of them expected Grian to move so fast.

          Screaming and bolting upright, the normally rather optimistic and smiling hermit, face panicked and breathing quick, flailed and hit the wooden platform of the floor with a painful thud. Before anyone could even think to stop him, Grian was on his feet and running again. There was a second, even more painful slam as someone hit a door and that stirred the others into action. Mumbo and Tango raced to their friend’s side and found him curled on the ground, shaking and sobbing with his knees to his chest and arms over his head.

          Moving slowly, Tango crouched by Grian’s chest, where he could see him. “Hey, Gri, can you hear me? Grian? Are you alright?” He repeated himself a few times until he must have gotten some sort of reaction. “Is it okay if I touch you? I need to check if you’re hurt.”

          When Grian spoke, there was a hoarse tone to his voice. “O-okay.” Heart clenching in his chest, Mumbo went to sit by him. Tango carefully checked Grian’s spine, neck, and skull, ghosted his fingers over the hermit’s face.

          “I think you’re alright. Do you want to—” Tango jolted when Grian abruptly tackle-hugged him, burying his face in Tango’s chest. Cautiously, Tango wrapped his arms around his shaking friend.

          “Don’t let him get me. Please.” Blinking, Tango clutched him closer.

          “Who? Sam?” At the name, Grian shuddered, and a pang struck through Tango’s chest. He wished, suddenly, that he’d never said it. “We won’t let him get to you. I promise.”

          Sobs started to rock Grian’s shoulders and Tango held him closer, burying his face in his neck. “Grian.” Looking up, he looked up to see Xisuma, Zedaph, and the others were there. Walking over, Zedaph dropped to his knees and pulled Grian close. Tango noticed Cleo had made some soup and was currently holding it. A moment passed and everyone sort of sat near Grian. Their whole sleepover and the questions could wait.

          Making sure Grian was okay couldn’t.

Notes:

So my dog that wasn’t put down may have breed-related heart problems, I’m dreaming about writing, and my brain has been everywhere but where I want it. Not fun.
Anyways, see you next chapter.

Chapter 3: 2-Suffocation/Buried Alive

Summary:

Xisuma ends up buried alive while working on a project.

Notes:

TWs in the tags, once again. Stay safe, y’all.

          The last thing he remembered was sand, dirt, and gravel crashing over his head.

          Coughing, Xisuma opened his eyes and found something pressing on his helmet. That’s not normal. He tried to move. Immediately, he found that he couldn’t move—at all. No. No, no, no, this can’t—what happened? Xisuma closed his eyes, thought back to before he woke up. I must have fallen while building.

          “Helmet, communicator interface to visual.” He ordered, knowing that he shouldn’t be wasting air but also knowing he needed a way to communicate and check on the other hermits. He had to see if they were okay. Moments passed, and nothing happened. “Helmet, communicator interface to visual. Please.” He didn’t know why he’d added that. His helmet did what he asked. So why wasn’t it—

          Oh.

          As the communicator’s visual interface booted up, casting a pale green light around him, Xisuma saw a massive crack that spiderwebbed across his visor’s glass surface. Not good. Sand, dirt, and small stones pressed against his face. Meanwhile, the other hermits were freaking out in the chat about some sort of mega glitch.

<Grian> Everyone alright? Nothing lost?

<Iskall85> all good here

<ZombieCleo> good

<Zedaph> my redstone got messed up!

          While everyone began teasing Zedaph, Xisuma smiled softly and then began murmuring his own message. As he did, there was a muffled thud-pop in his chest and he screamed in pain. When he cracked open his eyes again, he saw that he’d sent the message. Clearly, the other hermits could tell something was wrong beyond a random-looking keyboard smash.

<Tango> x where are you

<ZombieCleo> how do we help?

<GoodTimesWithScar> X?

<Grian> guys give him a chance don’t spam him

          Mouth open, Xisuma tried vainly to suck in a breath. His helmet cracked even more, and though the logical side screamed to stay calm he couldn’t he couldn’t calm down, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe.

          Please. Please, no. I don’t want to die here. The pressure on him increased and Xisuma got a glimpse of the visor dropping even more. Glass, sand, and dirt and rocks crashed onto his face and Xisuma jerked to protect his eyes only to crack more of his ribs. Sand and dirt filled his mouth when he opened it to take a breath. The dirt by his eyes turned to gritty mud and he felt another thud-pop. This time, it was his shoulder.

Xisuma suffocated

          Pitching to the side, Xisuma threw up before he could do much more than open his eyes.

          A hand settled on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulders. Before he’d woken, the other hermits must have stripped him of his armour. They’d cleaned his mouth out, too, it seemed. He couldn’t taste dirt or the like.

          “Breathe, ‘suma, breathe.” Tango’s voice hit his ears, and Xisuma nodded weakly. Hands pressed him back on the bed, and False was trying to help him eat a little bit. Well, she handed him a soup bowl, that was about it.

          “Thank you.” Wincing at his voice, Xisuma shakily spooned a bit into his mouth with a trembling hand. False helped, and Xisuma could see that they weren’t alone. As they followed his gaze, Tango and False exchanged a look and the former laughed softly.

          Meanwhile, False said, “Everyone was worried. It’s not every day that someone gets so hurt.” Xisuma sat up and reached for his gauntlet, and Tango snatched the soup (and the armour) away whilst False gently slammed the admin to the bed. “Nope. You’re not moving. We’ll get the glitch, you get rest. Now. Not a debate. Sleep or I’ll force a weakness potion down your throat.”

          Lying back, Xisuma glanced at the sleeping hermits wrapped in blankets all around them, smiled, and settled down with closed eyes.

          He’d be okay.

Notes:

Yes I’m posting multiple chapters in one day don’t judge me. Also, this is both all platonic and personas-only. This is an experiment for my own writing (timed writing, character dynamics, etc.; My actual jobs are school and then writing) and Minecraft has a respawn mechanic and other rules. If I am asked by the content creators to take this down, then I will.
Also, those of you who bind, pay attention to your ribs and spine and the like. Basic binding safety, I know, but I went from 0 hours a day to 5 and that’s not even nice. Blegh.
See you in the next chapter.

Chapter 4: 3-Falling

Summary:

Impulse’s elytra break when he, Tango, and Zedaph are in the midst of a building challenge. Everything is fine…until it’s not.

Notes:

TWs in tags. Stay safe, y’all. I’m binging Impulse’s playlist, which is why he’s in this chapter. On to the fic!

          It was supposed to be a good day.

          Banking around his and the others’ current build, a massive cherry tree (a personal challenge from Iskall) Impulse grinned and swooped up behind Zedaph. Grabbing the blond’s shoulders, he burst out laughing when Zedaph flailed for a moment. “Impulse! What in the overworld?”

          Throwing a shulker box down, Impulse began pulling out dark oak wood as Tango arrived with rocket blasts and a heart cackle. “Impulse! You’re back! Got wood?”

          “A whole forest’s worth. You owe me.” Tango shoved his shoulder and they both laughed. “Got the food?”

          The other blond dropped a couple more shulkers on the branch. “Bet you two can’t finish your branches by lunch!” Shooting off, Tango went to where he had been working. Zedaph grinned and then shot off to their own areas.

          In his opinion, Impulse thought he and the others were doing pretty well. They weren’t huge builders—certainly not like Grian or Scar or some of the others. Still, their tree looked pretty good. Even better, they’d be getting diamonds out of the deal (specifically, three stacks each) if they even got close to the judges’ expectation. (The judges being Grian, Scar, and of course Iskall himself).

          Several hours passed, and there was a light rainshower as they ate lunch beneath some of the bright blossoms. There weren’t a ton of people on, and those who were apparently either didn’t care or weren’t topside, so no one went to bed. None of the ZIT team really cared either, so Impulse just kept working on the branch he’d moved to. For a while, he didn’t think about much more than placing blocks.

          Then he heard the screech.

          “Impulse, on your six!” Tango bellowed, and Impulse whipped around in time to see a phantom snapping towards him. Slamming into him, it bit down on his shoulder before he could even pull his sword out.

          “Impulse!” The rain stilled around him and it took a moment for Impulse to realise he was falling. Not good, come on. Spinning, he tried to fan out his wings and immediately heard whistling through the gaps. Broken. His wings were broken. He was falling, falling, falling for at least a second before slamming into one of the branches’ edges. Slick wood gave way beneath his fingers and then he was falling again, repeating the same process not one but three times before smashing into flat earth as his shattered elytra crumpled under him.

          Rain pattered down around him, sprinkling his eyelashes and freckling his cheeks. His ears rang. His limbs were numb. Despite that, Impulse could feel the sickening grinding of broken bones as his heart shuddered in his throat. On his wrist, his communicator buzzed frantically. All he could focus on was the red-hot and vibrant ache in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

          Closing his eyes, Impulse cracked open his mouth. A hoarse whimper left his throat, and he felt fingertips brush his cheek under his eye. As he came to again, he saw Zedaph crouching over him as Tango frantically typed away.

          A weak moan of pain left his mouth and Zedaph brushed his hair back, concern painting his face. “You’re okay, Impulse.” He reassured over the pounding rain. Sucking in a wheezing breath, Impulse closed his eyes and heard the familiar whooshing of a portal around him.

Teleported impulsesv to Xisuma

Teleported Tango to Xisuma

Teleported Zedaph to Xisuma

          “What happened?” The admin asked, voice firm but not accusatory. Impulse was lifted delicately, a hand on the back of his head and the other under his knees. Even the gentle movements made him cry out in pain, world swirling around him. Distantly, Xisuma began swearing under his breath and giving orders, but the words faded in and out too quickly for Impulse to process. “Stay with us, Impulse. You can’t sleep.” Xisuma ordered, and gloved fingers smacked his face a few times.

          Cracking open his eyes, Impulse stared up at the ceiling. Under his head, he could feel blood starting to soak the fabric. “Sorry…about your bed…” The words scratched up his throat, and Xisuma took a potion from Tango.

          “Stop talking and save your strength. Drink this.” Tipping the potion into Impulse’s throat, Xisuma helped him drink it. Stomach heaving, Impulse very nearly just threw up from the pain.

          Sucking in a breath, he closed his eyes and blacked out again.

          When he stirred, Xisuma was changing some of his bandages. Glancing over, the admin mused, “You’re lucky. You almost died.”

          “I know.” Impulse murmured, taking a breath and looking to the side. Tango and Zedaph were asleep in chairs nearby. Well, saying they were in the chairs was generous. Tango had his legs kicked up on the foot of the bed, slumped down in the chair so much his shoulders were really the only bits there. Meanwhile, Zedaph was lying sideways, head tipped back over one armrest and his legs casually thrown over the other. From the looks of it, the pair had been there a while. Impulse took another breath and said, “We’re all one-third of a whole idiot.”

          Xisuma snorted, and Impulse fell back into unconsciousness.

Notes:

Dysphoria, misgendering, and deadnaming sucks. Team ZIT has one collective brain cell, and for this fic it was watching Big Marvel’s rubber chicken covers.
See you in the next chapter.

Chapter 5: 4-Burn

Summary:

The hermits are all hanging out with a server-wide sleepover at the Mansion. Grian makes food since he’s the host…but it doesn’t go well.

Notes:

Yes, another chapter. TWs are in tags. Have fun.

          “Okay, but how does someone’s voice sound like a centipede crawling over a skull?”

          Looking up at False, Bdubs began to explain, “I—” He frowned and then stopped. “I don’t know.” A pillow thwacked them both.

          “Stop thinking about literary devices and start thinking about snacks and fun stuff!” Cleo ordered, and Bdubs made a grab for her pillow. In response, the zombie smacked him in the face with it.

          By some magic, all of the online hermits were gathered in Grian’s mansion for a sleepover. Whether it’d turn out well or it’d end up “a menagerie of madness”, as Joe had described them so lovingly, was yet to be determined.

          Taking a breath, Grian looked around and smiled as he watched his friends. Iskall and Mumbo were chatting with Scar about redstone and terraforming (if he had to guess). Meanwhile, Cleo was braiding False’s hair and Stress was braiding Tango’s as the Boomer talked with Bdubs, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Impulse. Wels was polishing his helmet, laughing with Joe and xB and Vintage. Jevin was listening, leaning against Keralis as he read a book and occasionally commenting on Etho’s current drawing. In the other corner of the rainbow mass of beds, Ren, Doc, and Cub were talking about the “good old days” of season six.

          Smiling, Grian wandered into the kitchen and began pulling out some supplies to make snacks for everyone. After all, Cleo had mentioned them, and he wouldn’t be a proper host if he didn’t make snacks. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a sugarcane farm or the ability to cook.

          He was in the middle of boiling water when it happened.

          From the main room, he could hear the others chattering about something or other and the familiar beat of a song. It took a few moments for him to really recognise it. When he did, Grian’s heart dropped to his feet and jumped to his throat in the span of a second. The spoon in his hand clattered to the floor of the kitchen, but he barely heard it over the mocking laughs and the dim taste of plastic and poisoned food on his breath. Leaning forwards, Grian braced his hands on the oven and tried to even his breathing. Heat prickled on his sleeve, on his knuckles and wrists, but he barely even noticed.

          “Grian!” A hand touched his shoulder. Somehow, his mind switched the lower tones of Iskall’s natural cadence of green warmth and turquoise brightness to Sam’s harsh cacophony of white hate and scarlet tongue. Jerking, Grian met Iskall’s eyes and then felt his hand smash against the pot on the stove. Heat splashed his stomach and sharp, stabbing pain blanked out his vision.

          He must have screamed without thinking,

          Hands grabbed his shoulders and he very nearly punched them in the face before he realised it wasn’t Sam, this was a friend. “Hey, Grian, it’s okay, breathe.” Shoulders shaking, he let out a sob and False turned, “Xisuma, get a towel and some cool water and soak the towel. Not hot, not ice—cool water. Iskall, go shut the song off just in case it’s that. Tango, Zedaph, Impulse, help me move him to the bathroom, we need to get the burns under cool water for the pain.”

          “I’ll go get some potions!” Stress announced, bolting. Tango and Impulse carefully lifted Grian off the floor—he didn’t remember dropping down. Zedaph held his arm steady while False kept Prof. Beaks from getting onto the burns.

          Breath hitching in his throat, Grian stared at the wall beyond his friends. Friends. (He and Sam and Taurtis had been friends. Then Taurtis got hurt and Sam—Sam—)

          “Grian, love, you’re rocking.” Stress’ voice broke into his thoughts, faintly, and his eyes flicked to her. He was rocking. (Sam wouldn’t be happy. Taurtis didn’t do that. Taurtis didn’t--) “Grian, I need you to drink this. Please?”

          She handed him a potion, and Grian studied it before the sour tones of plastic and poison filled his mouth. “No. No, no, please. Please, no—I can’t—I—I—” (Tuatis didn’t stutter he shouldn’t stutter Sam would know, he would know he would know he would know—)

          He couldn’t breathe. Someone was half-crying and half-wailing, and he ran his fingers up to his hair. Dim pleas reached his ears, and his vision blurred.

          “Come on, Gree-on, stop crying. You’re such a crybaby.”

          “Grian, can I touch you? Is it okay for me to touch you or will that make this worse?”

          “Guys, give him space.”

          “Is he okay?”

          “Such a freak.”

          “There’s no Gree-on, I don’t know a Gree-on. What’s up with that, Taurtis?”

          “Oh, love, don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

          He’d messed up he’d messed up he’d messed up. They all knew they were all going to think he was a freak he was a freak they’d all hate him. Iskall might have been hurt he might have hurt Iskall he might have destroyed every good thing he had he didn’t deserve it anyways he—

          Professor Beaks settled on his shoulder and squawked once, biting his unhurt knuckles gently and pulling them away from his hair. His other hand was being bandaged by Stress. Pink patches of skin flecked with blood poked out in the gaps and everything began to slow down again. Taurtis’ shirt had looked like that as he bled out in the driver’s seat. Sam’s shirt had looked like that when he’d killed people. Stop stop thinking you can’t do this you idiot you’re such a crybaby and you’re scaring everyone—

          “Grian.” Xisuma’s voice snapped through his spiral of thoughts and Grian looked up to him. “Can I touch you? Will that make it worse?”

          Reaching out, Grian grabbed for the admin’s jacket with his undamaged hand. “Please—I can’t—I can’t—” Xisuma held him close and Grian sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

          “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Xisuma held onto him and Grian squeezed his eyes shut. He was home, he was safe.

          (Maybe one day he’d really believe it.)

Notes:

No clue why this turned into pure angst but also having a song cause anxiety is stupid, especially when said song is a) the most popular, or at least one of, for its soundtrack; b) part of a Disney movie; and c) literally has its own rides and shops. Fricking Nightmare Before Christmas is my brother’s favourite Halloween movie and I can’t even listen to the Pentatonix version of “Making Christmas" without struggling and it’s just—ugh. Stupid.
Anyways, I know this is stupidly late I’ve been struggling lately. So you get eight chapters instead of one. Working on my other MCYT fics.
Hope to see you next chapter.

Chapter 6: 5-Passing Out

Summary:

Xisuma forgets to eat. His blood sugar drops.
(AKA I project onto a Minecraft persona)

Notes:

TWs in tags (there’s a lot of them I know but whatever). Passing out sucks, low blood sugar sucks, and Xisuma is today’s target b/c why not.
Also, likely a shorter chapter. I’m tired, that’s basically it. Now, onto the chapter.

Xisuma died of starvation

<Iskall85> you alright man?

<MumboJumbo> X?

<Tango> someone mind checking on him

<Zedaph> can’t end busting

<Tango> you’re end busting with me I know that

<Tango> anyone else

<Xisuma> I’m fine

Your home bed was missing or obstructed

<Xisuma> can someone fetch my stuff please?

<Docm77> co-ords?

          Xisuma sent them and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood on spawn island. Stupid. That was stupid. No one should die of starvation on the Hermitcraft server. We’re pros. A child could do better.

          With a sigh, X turned to the ender chest someone had kindly left and rooted through for his elytra and some rockets. His stomach hurt like someone had jabbed a knife into it multiple times. Pressing a hand to the armourplates there, he closed his eyes for a brief moment and then sprinted for the edge of the shore. Water skimmed his boots as he took off, shoving his helmet back on.

          On his wrist, his communicator continually (although he supposed incessantly was more accurate for how annoying it was) chimed. The sound was grating, Xisuma had half a mind to chuck the damned thing into the cyan sea below. Except…Mumbo had worked really hard on updating them and the idea of losing it—or, worse, abandoning it—actually hurt more than he’d admit. (Not because he didn’t care, of course he did. The hermits were his family. If he didn’t care, he shouldn’t be their admin. He just couldn’t show what hurt him. Or any negative emotion of any shape, form, or outlet at all. He was fine.)

          Banking towards his base, Xisuma stretched out his legs for a running landing. One knee buckled as it hit the grass and he stumbled with a grunt, elytra folding behind him. As he cursed himself for the awkward landing, Xisuma took a sharp breath and looked for the other hermits. Doc had clearly gathered his stuff (he’d died right outside his base working on some farms, such an idiotic move. Was he even fit to be the admin if he died from starvation?). Otherwise, he was the only one there.

          Wincing as his stomach jabbed him with another bout of nausea, Xisuma sucked in a painful breath and closed his eyes. You need to eat, or you’ll die again. He could have sworn that was Ex’s voice, but he didn’t have the energy to care. He didn’t have the energy to eat, either. Even as he stumbled into the kitchen, holding his stomach’s armour plates and trying to figure out what his body could handle eating, the mere thought of food made the nausea worse. Come on, X, stop being a child.

          I want help. A small part of him cried.

          You don’t need it. Xisuma snarled, going to the chests where he kept food. It was too hot in his kitchen and the sunlight was too bright. Growling, he chucked his helmet off and closed the blinds. The helmet clanked against the wood planks and quartz of his floor, and Xisuma went about making some rabbit soup.

          Why it happened, he wasn’t sure. Maybe his breathing was too slow or he’d locked his knees or something. One moment, Xisuma was staring at the rabbit soup as it cooked, waiting. Suddenly, he mused, it’s kind of hot in here

          Then he was…somewhere, maybe the void and maybe somewhere beyond that.

          Then he wasn’t. A hand was on the back of his neck, supporting his head. Speaking of his head, it hurt. It felt like there was blood dripping down his face, and he sucked in painful breaths. “Hold on, you’re okay. Breathe. Breathe, you’re alright.” Doc’s voice hit his ears and Xisuma felt the half-creeper slowly pick him up off the floor.

          “My head hurts.” He forced out between gasps. “Am I bleeding?”

          “No. You hit your head pretty bad, though. Quartz floor.” Doc mused, and Xisuma felt bedsheets press into his back.

          Whether he liked it or not, it looked like the admin would be on bedrest for some time.

Notes:

It’s short because I’m lazy, fighting a migraine, and prepping for senior pictures and a senior trip this weekend (which means a haircut and dealing with the girl who told me gay people belong in a certain kind of camp from the 40s via an even *worse* statement).
Wish me luck.
See you in the next chapter!

Chapter 7: 6-Touch Starved

Summary:

After being a literal hermit and secluding himself away to work on a particularly challenging build for two months, Grian finds that there are some rather…adverse effects to his isolation.
It doesn’t help as for why he decided to hide away, either.

Notes:

TWs are in tags (the ones I could think of). Also, the cruel irony of my brain going with this prompt.
Anyways, on with the fic.

          It was a prank.

          It was a prank, and a stupid one at that. One so stupid and clodpole-ish only he, Grian, the resident gremlin of Hermitcraft, could come up with it. And it went wrong. Actually, saying that was an understatement. It was a tragedy. A travesty. A catastrophe of the most epic proportions.

          Which was why Grian had spent two months hidden away.

          He couldn’t bear to see the other hermits’ expressions when he passed them. Not after the first day. Ren had scowled at him. Scar and Mumbo had flown off when they saw him in the shopping district. Impulse, Tango, and Zedaph had been talking and stopped to glare when he’d walked by. Even worse, someone had (rather uncharacteristically for the sever) left hate mail and even broken some of the grass planes. So, rather than allow the issue to continue, Grian went off to build where he wouldn’t break anything more. As he wrapped up yet another one of his project’s massive towers (60 blocks tall, with a hexagonal base that was 15 blocks wide at the largest), Grian yawned and rubbed the sweat on his forehead off with his jumper sleeve. He sharp ache in his shoulders that had progressively gotten worse in the weeks past came back as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. One of them just hurt, and he winced as he pressed down on where it hurt the most. Maybe it was a knot? Either way, he needed to fly. Once again, he was out of supplies and resources. Not the kind he could just easily farm, either.

          Taking a deep breath, Grian ran a hand through his sweaty, greasy hair and then limped for the entrance. Fireworks cracked behind him and for a brief moment his poor heart leapt in his chest. Banking to the side, Grian tilted towards the shopping district. The ocean flashed by beneath him for a long while, and then green grass approached. Stretching his legs forwards as green grass reached his feet, he landed with a heavy thud and went rolling. Rocks and dirt met his face and he laid there for a moment. His face stung, his shoulders ached…his heart ached.

          That was his fault.

          All of it was his fault.

          Hauling himself upright, Grian rubbed his own shoulders through his sleeves. Then, he made his way towards the barge. He just…needed to check on his supplies, make sure that he hadn’t sold out. Not that he actually thought he might have sold out. Everyone was still mad at him. (Grian couldn’t blame them. If he were them, he’d be mad, too.)

          Coughing wetly into his elbow, he took a harsh breath and ducked into the barge. As he checked the barrels, noting what was sold out and shivering, he realised he could feel something sitting in his chest. When did it get so cold? Coughing again, he glanced around the barge and sighed. On the bright side, I have some glass. No need for windows.

          Slowly, he went about cleaning the dust and cobwebs from the bridge, fixed the broken windows, coughed a few more times. His chest ached. Actually, he was less sure of what did ache than what didn’t. That list totalled to his nose, his right pinkie (he’d smashed all of his other fingers throughout building, somehow), and one (1) spot on his left forearm that was surrounded by one bruise or scrape after another.

          They’re going to find you here. A voice murmured in the back of his mind, and Grian paused with his hands over another pane of glass. Staring at his dusty, bruised, and bandaged fingers as they trembled, Grian closed his eyes and then took another breath. You don’t belong here. Not after what you did. Idiot.

          His ribs ached, and he paused to press a hand to the wounds thee. During building, he’d fallen and died. No one was around, so he said nothing when the others logged on. The injuries still hadn’t healed, his ribs burned like he’d done more than just crack a few. As far as Grian knew or cared, no one did the same.

          Dragging his fingers over the inside of his arm, Grian felt the nerves there repeatedly fire off and ache. It only got worse when he let his fingers drift from his palms to his fingertips. (When was the last time someone had touched him? He didn’t remember.) Shuddering and taking a breath, Grian picked up another pane of glass as his nerves burned and affixed it to the side of the barge. Someone had thrown a brick through, and the glass shards cut through the bandages on his hands and wrists (building injuries, though he wouldn’t deny that he had bitten his wrist during a severe panic attack or two).

          Grian kept working without thinking, scrubbing at the graffitied floors until his hands were raw and bloody, replacing windows, and coughing every few moments as he restocked and checked for a thousand times. Shoulders aching, he sat on the edge of his now-cleaned zen garden and coughed again, aware of something in his chest. It’d been there for a while.

          “Grian!”

          Looking up, Grian met the gaze of none other than Bdubs. “Oh. Hi, Bdubs.” Concern crossed the other hermit’s face and Grian touched his throat. Do I really sound that awful? The words were sharp, jabbed his throat. I guess I haven’t talked in a little while.

          Bdubs walked over, indicating the steps beside Grian. “Mind if I sit?”

          No. He mused.

          You don’t deserve his grace. You don’t deserve to be here. Sucking in a breath, Grian smiled at Bdubs, albeit weakly (even he knew).

          “Go ahead, I don’t mind.” Smiling, Bdubs sat down right next to him. Not just beside him, like with room. No, Bdubs sat so close that Grian could feel his nerves shaking and burning. A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jolted, looking over.

          “How have you been doing? You kind of vanished for a few…months. We got worried.” Glancing at Bdubs’ hand on his shoulder, Grian sucked in a few breaths. It was too much, he couldn’t, he had to—

          Moving away subtly, Grian gestured off in the direction he had come from. “Building a project. I only came back to get some supplies and then I saw the barge. I’ll be out of your hair soon, though, I promise.”

          He forced a laugh into his tone. “Oh, really?” Bdubs’ tone had dropped into a sad one, and Grian laughed nervously.

          “It’s not—it’s not because of you, I swear. I—the project,” he waved his hands as he stumbled over the words.

          With a gasp, Bdubs grabbed his wrist. Breath hitched, Grian stared at him. “Your hands.” He whispered, eyes flicking up. Grian jerked away, jumping to his feet. “Grian—”

          “It—It’s nothing. I’m fine.” As he spoke, his voice cracked on ‘fine’, betraying him. Turning, Grian ran and took off. His shoulder smashed into the edge of the barge.

          Crying out, he backed up with a few wingbeats and then flew for the clear sky. He slammed into something—no, worse, someone—and went tumbling to the earth. Dirt pressed to his cheek and he tried getting up, tried just getting his arms under himself. Wrists shaking, Grian took a trembling breath and then laid down and gave up.

          It hurt.

          Everything hurt.

          He hurt.

          “Grian. Grian, are you okay?” Stress’ fingers combed through his hair and he shuddered, mind going to the times when she’d braid his hair during hermit sleepovers. It hurt. “Oh, Grian. Poor thing.”

          Slowly, he gained his strength back stumbled to his feet, waving off whoever wanted to help. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

          “You’re carrying yourself like everything hurts and you’re limping.”

          “It doesn’t matter.” Brushing by Xisuma, Grian adjusted his elytra. The admin grabbed his shoulders and spun him so their gazes met. “What do you want? I have a project to get to.”

          Where the sudden burst of irritability came from, he wasn’t sure. Xisuma’s eyes narrowed. “Stress, go get Mumbo and Iskall, please.” Nodding, she flew off and Xisuma backed Grian over to the barge, forcing him to sink down. “You’re holding yourself like your shoulders—no, like your whole body—hurt.”

          He shoved Xisuma’s hands off of his shoulders, but otherwise didn’t really move. Looking away, he propped his chin up with his hand, mumbling, “It’s not my whole body.”

          “But enough of it.” Shrugging, Grian kept his focus away from Xisuma. Unfortunately, that meant he could see Stress returning with Mumbo and Iskall in tow. He prepped himself for glares at the very least and yelling at the most (if not dying, which he wouldn’t care about).

          “Grian!” Iskall wrapped his arms around Grian’s body. For the first time in a long while, actually. Squirming and shaking, Grian pulled away (but not for long, Iskall chased him back down). “Good gosh! You look horrible!”

          “Iskall!” Stress yelped as the others gawped. Meanwhile, Grian looked at the Swede critically.

          “What do you mean?”

          Grabbing Grian’s wrist, Iskall wrapped his fingers around it. “Look at this! When did you eat? Or sleep? Or shower! Look!” Ruffling Grian’s (admittedly disgusting) hair, Iskall declared, “We’re taking you to sleep somewhere now! Mumbo, help me! You, too!” He indicated Bdubs, then hoisted Grian up over his shoulders like a sheep or a large sack of flour or maybe a body pillow (he didn’t know which of the three was the most dignified).

          Sighing, Grian closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.

+++ (AND NOW FOR A BONUS BIT BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ THIS)

          “Ow!”

          “Sorry.” Grian twisted to look at what Mumbo was trying to do, even though he knew. For the moment, Mumbo was trying to work some of the knots out of his back. One hand went to Grian’s shoulder and found the painful knot there. Jerking and then burying his head in his arms, he let out a short breath. “Sorry!”

          “Stop—apologising—please.” He forced out, grabbing his hair. Little spikes of pain shot through his nerves as the contact made its way through his system. Iskall came back with a bowl of soup in hand and sat down by Grian’s head. “You don’t have to do this.”

          “Uh, we haven’t seen you in two months.” Bdubs announced as he walked in, too. “So shut up and let us take care of you.”

          Sighing, Grian let his head rest back on his arms and closed his eyes.

Notes:

The hermits talking about a single diamond block as poor is odd. Somehow, despite having played Minecraft when I had the chance for nearly eight years now, I have yet to mine a single diamond in Survival and not once gone on Hard mode. So, yeah, can’t relate.
This may not be posted until the 12th or so because I’m away this weekend (this note was written at 12:41 am on the ninth, btw).
Now, on to the next chapter!

Chapter 8: 7-Electrocution

Summary:

Tango makes the mistake of going outside in a thunderstorm. It does not go well.

Notes:

TWs in tags. Tango is probably an android in this so it’s an AU. Uh…yeah. Enjoy!
(Might be fairly short, meant to be written platonically but you can probably see romance if you squint?)

          Tango could feel pain, despite what some of the other hermits thought.

          He felt it when he and Impulse met their Demise. He felt it when skeletons shot him and zombies clawed him. Heck, he felt pain when he landed wrong or tweaked his shoulder or even stubbed his toe. He was an android, not some heartless piece of redstone dust.

          Who had made him that way, he wasn’t sure. If Tango ever met them, though, they’d get all of the sass they had programmed into him—likely along with a series of curses and insults they hadn’t. Seriously, who thought putting pain into a living being was okay? (He was just lucky that Doc and Iskall and Mumbo had robotics and redstone skill, or he would have been screwed over a thousand times.)

          When Tango had first arrived in Hermitcraft, he hadn’t actually bothered to tell anyone he was an android. He hadn’t told Impulse and Zedaph for a while, either. Actually, they were never told. He got injured badly one adventure in the Nether and his chassis had been nearly shredded. So they’d had to try and keep him alive while Doc and Iskall raced over with an emergency repair kit. Impulse had been forced to hold his heart.

          Speaking of Impulse and Zedaph, Tango was out with them and it was raining. Not the best for robotic, but he wasn’t a cyborg like Doc or Iskall so he didn’t need to worry about rain. It was just a little water, but his chassis was waterproof.

          “Alright, let’s try to get home as soon as possible.” Impulse said as he chopped through yet another tree. “I don’t want to fly when this gets worse.”

          Laughing, Tango replied, “Aw, does Wimpulse not want to get his wings wet, widdle baby?” Impulse scoffed and shoved him lightly. Following him, Tango whined, “But Zedaph, I don’t want to fly with my wings all wet it’s so uncomfortable.”

          “That doesn’t sound like me.”

          “That doesn’t sound like me.”

          “Tango…”

          “Tango…”

          Impulse started making some whiny sounds and Tango copied him, both with derpy smiles on. Meanwhile, Zedaph sheared the leaves off a tree, smiling but rolling his eyes. “Atashi Station to pick up some power converters.”

          Staring at one another, both men burst out laughing at the reference. “Dorks.” Zedaph announced, and Tango started walking out into the rain. “Let’s head home before Tinman there turns to rust.”

          “Shut up, I’m an android, not a tin man. My chassis is pure plastimetal.” Knocking on his chest, Tango grinned as his knuckles rapped a hollow spot.

          “Oh, so you’re a Ken doll.”

          “Nah, Ken doesn’t have half my looks.” Scoffing, Zedaph picked up some stray shulkers, and Tango strode further out into the plains. “All done, Zed? I need to get back to charge.”

          “Do you stick the charger in your mouth?” Zedaph asked. Staring at him flatly, Tango began walking. Rain pattered down on his shoulders, and he heard the other members of Team ZIT following. A sudden strange, almost tingling, feeling splashed over his whole body, and Tango paused, frowning. What the—

          The world blasted white and heat slammed over him.

          Ears ringing, he felt himself hit the ground and hands touched his shoulder. Immediately, they jerked back and Tango felt spasms working their way through his body.

          Slowly, he stumbled to his feet when he had the chance. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear. “Impulse! Zedaph!” He didn’t hear his voice, but he felt the words form in his throat. Throwing his arms out, he felt around until calloused fingers found his wrist. “Impulse. I can’t—I can’t see.”

          Shaking, he blinked a few times. It wasn’t like he expected. If he had to guess, his optics had been damaged by…was I struck by lightning? Impulse traced letters onto his skin, a question.

          “T-take me to Doc and Iskall, I’ll—I’ll be fine.” His voice box started glitching, so he really said, “T-take me to-to-to Doc and Isk-Iskall, I’ll-I’ll be f-f-fine.”

          Impulse scooped him up and Zedaph’s redstone-smoothed fingers carded through Tango’s hair as a reassurement that he was there.

          As they walked, Tango could feel little jolts of electricity deeper in his chest. Even as his hearing returned, he could feel hot, sticky liquid redstone dripping from his ears. Actually, from his ears and his nose, mouth, even the corners of his eyes. “Im-Impulse. Impulse.” The effort to speak was much more than it should have been. Stupidly much more.

          Impulse glanced down, pain in his eyes, and Tango wondered if his hands were burnt from heat. He had to have been hot after—by the time Impulse scooped him up. “You’ll be okay. Okay? We’re so close.”

          Tango lost some time between then and when he stirred. One moment, he was about to reply to Impulse, staring at the platinum grey sky behind the man. The next, they were sprinting through Doc’s medical lab. No, to it, he recognised the quartz and sea lantern pattern overhead. Impulse probably made those lanterns…good for him. Tango mused, head falling back against Impulse’s chest.

          “Hold on, Tango. Stay with us.” Zedaph ordered, and Tango choked on liquid redstone. Red matted Impulse’s skin and Tango coughed weakly.

          “Imp-Impulse. You—you—you—”

          “Stop talking, save your strength.”

          “-h-hurt.” His fingers brushed the bloodstains and Impulse glanced down. There was another burst of electricity in his chest and Tango cried out, clawing at Impulse’s shirt.

          A door opened, and Impulse looked up. “Doc! Iskall! We need help!”

          Tango’s eyes rolled back as darkness overtook him.

          “…shorting out. We need to…shutdown….” Doc. What was Doc talking about? Him?

          “In non-android expert?” Impulse’s voice was hoarse, cracked.

          “He’s having the android equivalent of a heart attack due to somewhere between ten thousand and two hundred thousand amperes—” Iskall trailed off.

          “A billion volts?” Zedaph’s voice reached Tango’s ears. Clawing at consciousness, he felt Doc messing with his chest.

          When he did wake up for real, he was lying on an exam table, Doc’s hand in his chest. Smiling, the half-creeper said, “Welcome back. You scared us all pretty badly. Don’t talk, you have a catheter in your mouth to replenish your redstone…blood.”

          Nodding, Tango let his head fall back and sighed, closing his eyes again. He was fine, just…tired. Doc’s hand ran over his hair gently.

          “There you go. Just rest, we’ll be here when you wake.”

Notes:

I thought this would be a short chapter. Guess not.
See you in the next one!

Chapter 9: 8-Shot Down

Summary:

Xisuma, leader of the hermits, is holding a meeting when a young man with a red jumper and feathered wings comes crashing through the dining room window. Mythical Creature AU.

Notes:

TWs in tags. Not listing the mythical creatures, figure it out yourself and have fun. Also, I write these between editing my actual books to keep off writer’s block, so after October I may not write as much fanfics as I have three books to publish between now and next May.
Now, on with the fic!

          It was a lovely night up until the young man crashed through their dining room window.

          Now, it wasn’t the poor boy’s fault. Clearly, it wouldn’t be. He hadn’t been aiming for their window. He probably hadn’t even been aiming for their island.

          They—“they” being Xisuma and his lovely hermits—had been in the middle of a meeting. Not an incredibly important one, otherwise they’d have been in their preferred meeting place and not Xisuma’s dining room. There weren’t many hermits—never had been, since they fled the other world and retreated to this one.

          Scratching his ear with a clawed hand, Rendog looked down at the delicate teacup in his hand and then sipped some of it. Smiling, Xisuma took in the other hermits. There were only twelve who’d stayed. Him, ren, Tango, Impulse, Zedaph, Doc, Stress, False, Cleo, Scar, Mumbo, and Iskall. They’d been attacked and scattered, and Mumbo, Scar, and Iskall had only just found their way home to the others. They newly returned were recounting what they’d done and who they’d met as they jumped one world after another.

          Gesturing with his teacup in one hand, Iskall continued, “So Scar’s stuck in the stables with his hand down a llama’s throat, but Mumbo and I don’t know that and we’re looking at this guy. Neither of us have any clue what to say and this guy gets up and goes,” he moved again, and Cleo caught her teacup before he dropped it, “Well I think,”

          There was a sudden crash and Cleo’s tea set was saved by False and Stress’ quick thinking. The perpetrator of the crash—a bloodied young man in a red jumper—slid over the table and then dropped off the other side. “Watch out for glass! Iskall, Scar, clean that up. Ladies, medical kit. Ren, Impulse, Zedaph, Tango, weapons. Check outside.” Getting up, Xisuma crouched by their injured invader’s side. They were young, with choppy dark blond hair and a thin frame beneath the jumper. Splayed out beneath them were two wings, much like Iskall or Tango or False. Of course, there were some differences. Both Iskall and Tango’s wings were draconic, and False’s were a mix of a monarch butterfly’s and expert mechanics where they had been shredded away by her hometown. The newcomer’s, however, were feathered…or, they had been feathered. The fact this person had even flown sent a pulse of shock through Xisuma’s chest. Massive patches of feathers had been ripped away, clearly being recent since there weren’t signs of any new feathers growing.

          Ren and Team ZIT returned, weapons drawn. By then, Xisuma realised there was no possible way this person could be anything but harmless. For starters, they were entirely unconscious. For another, they were clearly half-dead (and on the more dead side than alive).

          Frowning, Tango asked, “Is he even alive?” Xisuma pressed two fingers to the kid’s neck. Dim, but there, a faint pulse thrummed. When he nodded, Tango swore.

          Gently, Xisuma checked for any skull or spinal injuries. A few arrow shafts plunged into the invader’s stomach and chest, but there weren’t any c-spine injuries that Xisuma could feel. (This person was much luckier than Zueljin and Sl1pg8r, who’d died from those wounds. False had also been similarly hurt in the attack, the injury played a hand in her temporary retrograde amnesia afterwards, but that was yet to be seen in this person.) “He’s very badly hurt though.” Slowly, Xisuma pulled their new avian friend into his arms.

          A pained groan left their throat and he glanced down. Glassy eyes cracked only a fraction of the way open, and Xisuma held their gaze. “Pl-please. H-hel-p.” Eyes rolling back, they dropped into unconsciousness with a pained exhale. Xisuma carefully scooped them up and looked to the others.

          “Someone prepare a bed, looks like we may have a new family member.”

+++

          The first night there, their newcomer was in critical condition.

          Xisuma remained by their bedside, holding their hand as fever dreams threw them into night terrors. Stress had her work cut out for her, the poor woman. Between creating one potion after another and then coaxing them into the newcomer, massaging their throat so they’d swallow and not choke, she was busy. And that was just to keep them alive. Healing their ruined wings and the deep wounds to their body was a task all its own.

          Three long days passed, and Xisuma spent them all by the newcomer’s side. Small buds of dark red and burgundy feathers had begun to sprout from the naked, stripped patches on the kid’s wings. In some places, they’d been burnt, and the knife wounds to their back led Xisuma to believe that the poor child had fled to them. Maybe they were in one of the towns that we passed through to get here. But that’s so far to go, especially alone and hurt. Combing his fingers through the poor kid’s hair. False or Cleo had come in and washed the blood from it. It was a bit of a lighter tone than he had originally thought, though not by too much.

          A low wheeze left them, and Xisuma glanced down to see glazed dark eyes looking at him. “W-who?”

          “My name is Xisuma. You’re in Hermitcraft.” Relief flooded through their gaze, and they tried to sit up. Xisuma had to hold them down. “What’s your name?”

          “G-Grian.” Looking up, the kid repeated, “My name is Grian.”

          Several nights later, once Grian had moved in with Iskall and Mumbo and Scar and could walk, Xisuma found him sitting on the edge of a gliding platform. He was staring at the night sky, legs hanging off the wood slats. A deep breath fogged out into the night, pale silver against the midnight-toned emerald and ultramarine of the mountain forests far below. The moon hung like a curved opal claw, glimmering and pale, in the sky almost like a necklace on a blue silk dress. Small stars dotted the canvas like multicoloured glitter thrown about by hyperactive toddlers.

          Just as Xisuma was about to speak, Grian tilted his head back and spoke. It was to no one in particular….although Xisuma supposed it was to someone. Just no one he knew or could see.

          A certain sadness echoed in Grian’s voice, faint but there and so unlike what Xisuma knew of him. If he wasn’t mistaken, the young man was crying, too. Small tears ran down his cheeks, and Xisuma wondered if it was his mind and a trick of the light or if Grian had another ability to turn them to transparent pearls. The next words that echoed quietly through the air caused Xisuma’s heart to clench.

          “I made it, angel. I made it.”

Notes:

Well not *all* of them will have *purely* happy endings. Healthy dose of bittersweet. It *is* Whumptober, after all.
Anyways, I’ve written up to here over the course of about four or five days and I still have more ideas coming in. Whoop whoop.
On to the next fic!

Chapter 10: 9-Raid Turned Raze

Summary:

An overpowered raid attacks the hermits when they’re at a no-weapons picnic.
With all their skills, it’s been an exhausting, stressful, taxing week for everyone included. Even on a normal day, this would be a hard battle, but now they don’t stand much of a chance.

Notes:

I’m sleep deprived but are the hermits not adorable when they laugh? (I meant that like how you find a friend adorable or maybe a puppy, nothing creepy). Also I would one hundred percent watch the 2019 Charlie’s Angels more than once and that says something (might write a fic or two for that).
Anyways, I’m tired and my bi/panromantic gaydar (what’s the ace version? Ace…space? Aceblr? Idk I only figured out I was ace after a global pandemic and about five years.) is doing something. Let’s write!

          Only on Hermitcraft could a picnic of twenty friends have a “no-weapons” rule.

          Of course, said rule wasn’t unwarranted. They had it because having twenty hermits in the same place for an extended period of time was just asking for chaos. Twenty hermits of twent-seven (even if they hadn’t seen Biffa or Python or Jessassin for a while, even if TFC and Beef and Hypnotizd and xB weren’t around.) And to top it off, Team ZIT and Grian weren’t exactly the most calm or level-minded of men. All in good fun, of course, but still.

          And they’d also had a rather stressful week. A glitch left them all fighting sickness and mobs. Xisuma had kept it from spreading, but the admin hadn’t found where it started or how far it’d gotten just yet. False and Tango had nearly been forced to knock him out to get Xisuma away from his screens. The death count had gone up by nearly a hundred across them all, varying from being by a mob’s hand or something like starvation. Respawns had been more draining and not all the wounds had been fixed. Impulse had been left crippled and bedridden for days before Zedaph and Tango found him, got Stress’ potions, and then nursed him back to health. Stress had halved how much the potions cost as a result. Impulse said that the totems were eight for a diamond until the glitch was fixed. The hermits needed a break, so they had picked a small clearing in the forest, away from any spawn areas or villages, and they had a picnic. It was pretty peaceful for once.

          If only they knew it wouldn’t last.

+++

Two Hours From Now…

Welsknight was shot by Pillager

ZombieCleo was shot by Pillager

<Xisuma> Find somewhere to hide and stay safe! Help others!

Xisuma was slain by Ravager

Falsesymmetry was slain by Ravager

<GoodTimesWithScar> They have Ravagers!

<Tango> How are they so strong!?

Zedaph was slain by Ravager

impulseSV died of [Unintentional Game Design]

<Xisuma> break the beds!

Xisuma was slain by Ravager

Tango was shot by Pillager

<MumboJumbo> How is this happening?

<impulseSV> Look out for the evokers!

MumboJumbo was slain by Vex

Cubfan135 was slain by Vex

GoodTimesWithScar was slain by Vex

<Etho> We’re almost back

Etho was shot by a Pillager

<StressMonster101> Xisuma what do we do

<Xisuma> just run! Head for the shopping district!

+++

Current Time…

          “Hey, False, mind passing some cookies?” Tango asked. Indicating his current state, he added, “My hands are a bit full with Zedaph and Impulse.”

          True to word, the two other hermits were lying on their friend like cats. Impulse’s head was on Tango’s stomach, Zedaph was flopped on Tango’s legs with his head on Impulse’s back. Obviously, Tango didn’t care. He’d have shoved them off if he did.

          Laughing, False passed over the food and tucked some strands of blond hair behind her ear. Then she went back to braiding Cleo’s red hair, smiling. “They’re like cats.”

          “Platonic cuddles for the win.” Impulse sleepily mumbled into Tango’s stomach. Zedaph let out a muffled cheer. Meanwhile, their human pillow just rolled his eyes and then shoved cookies in his face.

          “Definitely. Ow!” Jolting, Grian glanced back at Stress, who was trying to fix his shoulder. “Oh. Gross, that’s what that looks like?” Twisting, he poked at the gash working its way around his neck, shoulder, and elbow. It was from a phantom that had attacked him, forcing him to fall onto one of the iron spikes of his castle after he was knocked from the sky. “Eugh, is that infected? That’s disgusting!”

          Slapping his hand away, Stress ordered, “Stop touching it, you’ll make it worse!” Wrinkling his nose, he turned and grabbed one of the mini cakes Iskall and Mumbo had made. Speaking of the two, they were currently reading on the sleeping bags (basically just their beds, but Cub had found a way to make them look like sleeping bags) with Scar, Cub, and Xisuma. Well, really just Cub and Scar. Xisuma was nodding off, finally relaxing after a week’s worth of stress and holding himself like his whole back hurt. Keralis and Etho were talking with Bdubs nearby (not just because that was where their sleeping bags were. Currently, Keralis was working out a knot in Xisuma’s neck that came from heavy armour [whoever had wrestled Xisuma out of his armour was a brave hermit] and being hunched over the screens). Jevin had roped Wels, Ren, Joe, and Doc into cloudgazing with him. Not that anyone minded, obviously.

          “Look, it’s a dirt block.” Doc pointed, then looked over and loudly added in Scar’s direction. “Or maybe it’s a mycelium block!”

          Someone pegged the half-creeper in the face with a snowball.

          “No causing trouble!” Cleo ordered, tucking the snowballs back into her inventory. Everyone shared a laugh, then went back to what they were doing. Eventually, Impulse wandered off to do something. None of them really thought much about it.

          At least, until Impulse screamed.

          Jolting out of their tranquil state, the hermits jumped to their feet. “Be careful. We don’t know what caused this.” Xisuma said, summoning his armour and securing his helmet with a few tugs.

impulseSV was slain by [Unintentional Game Design—The Threefold Death]

          “The Threefold Death?” Tango echoed. Meanwhile, Impulse respawned on his yellow blankets. Back arching off the bed, he clawed at his throat and gasped.

          “Impulse!” Zedaph crouched at his side and Impulse slapped his hands away, rolling on his side. Jerking his hands back, Zedaph quietly asked, “Impulse?”

          Coughing and wheezing, Impulse curled around himself and clutched his throat. A few words were wheezed into the silence smothering them all. “Raid. Witch. Ev-evoker. Ritual.”

          Their communicators all went off, and the hermits glanced down. In a normal raid warning, there would have been a single red-pink bar. However, this time was vastly different. The bar filled up red-pink like usual…then again and turned an orange-yellow, then filled again and darkened to green.

          “Th-that—that’s not possible.” Xisuma whispered, and Stress checked Impulse over. His face and neck were a mess of blood, matting his hair just above his ear and dripping from a thin slash across his throat and what looked like…

          “They hit me…with an axe…cut my throat. Plus a garrotte.” He choked out, panting the words in a hoarse tone. Gently, Stress touched his shoulder. Shaking, Impulse curled around himself once again.

          “How did they—” A crossbow bolt pierced through the side of Doc’s throat ad he let out an awkward grunt. As he fell, his cybernetic eye faded to dark. The rest of the raid stormed through the trees, weapons at the ready.

Docm77 was shot by Pillager

          “SCATTER!” Scar bellowed at the top of his lungs, and everyone bolted.

+++

          Wels and Cleo ran the same way. A scream left Cleo’s throat as an arrow smashed into her shoulder. Stumbling, she collided with the tree and looked up at Wels, eyes wide. Panting, he grabbed a stick and stepped in front of Cleo, spinning it as he faced down the approaching raid.

          “You should go.” She whispered, screaming when another crossbow bolt crashed into her leg. Dropping to the ground on one knee, she looked up at him. “Please.”

          “I’m not abandoning you.” Looking at the approaching Pillagers, Wels knocked the next bolt away with a quick spin of the stick. The edge fractured off, splinters hitting him in the cheek. He pulled the visor of his helm down, taking a breath. He glanced down and gave her a reassuring smile. “Alright?”

Welsknight was shot by a Pillager

ZombieCleo was shot by a Pillager

+++

          Xisuma glanced down at his communicator with a frown. Ducking under a tree, he slammed his back into the tree trunk and then glanced around. Growling, a ravager walked through the woods. Xisuma held his breath.

          The ravager swung its head around. Lowering its head, it sniffed the grass and then the air. Another low growl rattled through Xisuma’s chest as the beast strode around. Not good. Not good. The ravager turned, meeting his gaze. Heart leaping to his throat, Xisuma stood frozen. Oh, definitely not good.

          “Xisuma!” Blonde hair and a sword flashed and a hand wrapped around his wrist. False dragged him off after her. As they ran through the woods, Xisuma typed out a message one-handed to the other hermits.

<Xisuma> Find somewhere to hide and stay safe! Help others!

          Something smashed into Xisuma’s back and he was thrown into a tree. Gasping and ears ringing, he stumbled to his feet and looked back. False lunged for the ravager and leapt onto its back, driving her sword down towards its neck. A long tusk drove into his stomach, and the ravager bellowed. Fiery pain crashed over his head and he screamed. Rearing up, it stumbled back, and Xisuma grabbed the tusk with a pained cry. Blood spattered the ivory, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to play Decked Out ever again.

          “Hold on, X!” False shouted, and the ravager whipped its head around. The tusk ripped itself from his stomach. Another tree bashed into his shoulder, and the ground shook beneath his feet. Weakly cracking open his eyes and raising his head, Xisuma saw the beast charging for him.

Xisuma was slain by Ravager

Falsesymmetry was slain by Ravager

<GoodTimesWithScar> They have Ravagers!

<Tango> How are they so strong!?

+++

          “Zed, how’s he doing?”

          Glancing over his shoulder, Tango rammed his body back into the oak door to keep it closed. Blood dripped into his eyes again and he rubbed it off with his shoulder. Already, his shirt sleeve was stained and matted with red, but he had to ignore it. A ravager rammed into the door again and Tango squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the cobblestones slipping under his feet. No. No, you’re not getting them, I won’t let you. Growling, he pressed against the door again.

          Meanwhile, Impulse was splayed on the floor. Blood still streamed sluggishly from his wounds. Between the beginning of the attack and when Zedaph and Tango had dragged him into their hiding place, he’d fallen unconscious. Not that he didn’t have any reason to, Tango had a bad feeling he’d been shot or hit by one of the Evoker’s traps.

          The building rattled around them, and Tango heard the explosion before feeling it. His head whacked against the cobble wall behind him. Ears ringing, Tango cracked open his eyes and saw the ravager he’d been trying to stop breaking down the door. “No…”

Zedaph was slain by Ravager

impulseSV died of [Unintentional Game Design}

<Xisuma> break the beds!

Xisuma was slain by Ravager

          There was a mocking cheer, and Tango opened his eyes. Standing in front of him, crossbow ready, was a pillage. Tossing its head, it laughed and Tango chuckled weakly. A metallic taste filled his mouth and he felt blood dripping from the corner of his lips. “Do your worst…you stupid…mob.”

Tango was shot by Pillager

<MumboJumbo> How is this happening?

          Tango jerked awake on his bed, surrounded by desperately fighting hermits and the continuing raid. Shaking, Impulse pulled Tango closer, brandishing a stick as a weapon. Tears ran down his face and Impulse let out a pained wheeze. He shouldn’t have been fighting, he was tired. They all were.

          Everything hurt. “Im-Impulse.” Slowly, Tango tried to haul himself up. They were trapped on the beds, surrounded by the raid.

<impulseSV> Look out for the Evokers!

MumboJumbo was slain by Vex

Cubfan135 was slain by Vex

GoodTimesWithScar was slain by Vex

          “Where’s Etho?” Xisuma yelled, stumbling to the side. An arrow had found its place in his hip, and the admin wheezed. He must have shot off a message.

<Etho> We’re almost back

Etho was shot by a Pillager

          Cursing, Xisuma stumbled off into the woods, bleeding the whole way. Etho reappeared on his bed, groaning in pain and rolling to the side. Looking around as best he could, Tango took in the others. All of them were exhausted already, had been before the raid. Now most were bloodied and hurt. Grian wasn’t moving anymore. Wels and False were barely holding onto consciousness, shaking.

<StressMonster101> Xisuma what do we do

<Xisuma> just run! Head for the shopping district!

          Impulse hauled Tango and Zedaph up, smiled reassuringly somehow. Tango didn’t even know how he could possibly have hauled them both onto his back with how injured he was. Tango could walk somewhat, but Zedaph was entirely out. :Don’t worry, guys. We’ll be fine.”

+++

          They hid in the town hall.

          The good thing about Hermitcraft—death was cheap.

          The bad thing about Hermitcraft—death was cheap.

Notes:

I decided to watch YHS (Grian’s episodes). No clue why. So…no good ending this time around.
On to the next chapter!

Chapter 11: 10-Bad Jokes

Summary:

Not every joke is funny.
Too bad not everyone’s learned that.

Notes:

YHS with crazy Sam is setting off my anxiety but honestly it’s kind of the most alive I’ve felt in years. So I’ll keep watching and writing since I’m so close to catching up to the prompt lists. [Note from when this was posted: Ha no you ain’t] Probably a shorter chapter.

          Seven hermits working on the same project was seven hermits closer to an absolute disaster.

          Well, actually, they were currently having lunch, It was just as possible to delve into chaos, just…in a different way. But it was a nice day, not a cloud in the sunny sky, and they were eating lunch.

          “Oh, Professor Beaks! No, you can’t—I have to take him home. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” Grian swooped off, parrot in his arms.

          “So…you know how Grian calls Xisuma everything but his name?” Tango prompted, looking around at the others as he ate his sandwich.

          “Oh, yeah.” Doc mused, nodding. The others—Zedaph, Impulse, Mumbo, and Iskall—did the same.

          Grinning wickedly, Tango said, “We should do the same with Grian.”

          “Gee-ar-e-an?”

          “Gee-ryan?”

          “Grain?” They all burst out laughing, and Grian swooped back up.

          “What’s so funny?” The blond asked, kicking his legs out as he landed. Folding his elytra up, Grian smiled like he always did. “Guys?”

          “Oh, sorry, Gee-ryan, we’re just talking.” Zedaph mused, leaning back on his hands and kicking his legs. Staring out over the leaves and earth far below, he smiled.

          “Yeah, of course.” Frowning slightly, Grian looked to the side and paused.

          “We’ll tell you later, Gee-ar-e-an.” Iskall added. Still, Grian didn’t respond much more than a slight frown. They kept the game up for the next several hours.

          “Nice job, Grain!” Doc shouted, swooping by Grian as he worked skillfully to detail part of the build. “Looks great!”

          “Hah, thanks….” Quietly, Grian turned back to the detailing job. His hands shook a little, but no one noticed. As evening rolled by, Mumbo landed behind the builder.

          “Gree-on!”

          Jumping, Grian turned to look. For a moment, Mumbo swore he saw a mix of fear and anxiety snap across his face. It was wiped away just as suddenly.

          “H-hey, Mumbo.” Swallowing, Grian smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

          “We’re just packing up, Gree-on.” Shoulders shaking, Grian started playing with his sweater sleeves.

          “My-my name—please stop calling me that.”

          “Calling you what, Gree-on?” Impulse asked, swooping by and then landing. The others arrived. Blinking, Grian glanced between all of them. “We’ve always called you—”

          “That’s not my name.” Swallowing, Grian sucked in another breath. “Stop calling me that. Please.”

          “Calling you what?”

          “Come on, Gree-on, learn to take a joke.”

          “That’s not my name stop calling me that!”

          Laughing, Tango clapped a hand on Grian’s shoulder and said, “Come on, Gree-on, calm down. You’re like a starved tortoise.” Grian’s eyes widened.

          Without another word, he spun and flew away.

+++

          He didn’t land so much as crash.

          Stumbling, Grian hid himself in his bathroom and ran his hands into his hair. You need to calm down. Right now. You can’t have a panic attack.

          How did they know how did they know no one knew I can’t breathe what if they—Growling in frustration, Grian scratched at his wrists and arms. I’m going crazy. I’m going to—I can’t turn out like him. I can’t I can’t I can’t—

          “Grian?”

          Not Grian. Not Grian. Taurtis. The disgusting stench of those stupid chips filled his nose and he clawed at his face. His breathing was worsening. They’d think he was a freak Sam was right Sam was right he never should have come.

          “Grian!”

          I can’t I can’t I can’t breathe make it stop. Fingers locked around his wrists without really thinking.

          “Grian—Grian. It’s me. Scar.” Opening his eyes, he met Scar’s gaze as his breath rattled. Carefully, Scar pulled Grian’s hands away so he couldn’t hurt himself. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Eyes blurry, Grian took a breath. “Should I call Xisuma?”

          “Please. Please. Don’t—don’t let him get me. Please.”

          “We won’t. Xisuma? Do you want Xisuma?” Shakily, Grian nodded, and Scar gently clutched his forearm as a reassurement. He called the admin with his other hand.

+++

<GoodTimesWithScar whispers to Xisuma> X we need you at Grian’s base right now.

<GoodTimesWithScar whispers to Xisuma> It’s bad. I don’t know what happened but it’s bad.

<Xisuma whispers to GoodTimesWithScar> On my way, keep yourselves safe.

+++

          Xisuma kicked his legs out as he landed on the grass outside Grian’s base.

          Walking towards the mansion, he glanced around. Mumbo and some others had been working with Grian. Did they cause the panic attack somehow? Or did he fly off when he felt it coming?

          Walking into the main room, he found Grian pressing himself to the chests and Scar in front of him. “What happened?” Xisuma asked, striding forwards. Crouching down, he glanced between the two.

          “Gree-on.” Grian whispered, and Xisuma’s chest flooded with rage. “Don’t.” Grabbing his arm, Grian choked out, “Please. They didn’t know, I’m okay.”

          Looking him over, Xisuma let his gaze linger on the bright red scratches marring Grian’s arms and neck. “You had a panic attack and self-harmed. Not exactly my definition of ‘okay’, Grian.”

          “X.” Taking a shuddery breath, Grian added, “Just not today. Please.” A moment passed, and he sighed. Grian was right. It could wait. Meeting Grian’s gaze, Xisuma offered a hug. Grian took it.

          Maybe not today—Xisuma would respect Grian’s wishes—but he and Mumbo and the others would be having a little chat soon.

          Very soon.

Notes:

This one sort of turned into a ramble. Also, is it true season 7 is coming to an end due to the update drop? I don’t know quite how it works, exactly.
Anyways, see you in the next chapter!

Chapter 12: 11-Bruises

Summary:

A continuation of Chapter 9 b/c I can’t think of much else.

Notes:

I am in the throes of a migraine, new inspiration, and what I feel may be some form of a “I no longer want to exist”. Tired but let’s write this.
As always, TWs in tags.

          Someone was gently pouring regen potion down his throat.

          Blinking his eyes open, Grian met Stress’ gaze. Dark purple bruises sat under her eyes, and she glanced down at him. She smiled and stroked his hair back. “Hey, G. How do you feel?”

          Hoarsely, he said a few soft words. “Alright. The others?”

          “Tired. We all are.” Weakly, he laughed and then winced. The last thing he remembered was the raid and a ravager tearing through his stomach and chest as he laid helpless in bed. “Hey. Grian.” Gently, Stress touched his shoulder. “Breathe. You’re okay.”

          Weakly, he nodded and then closed his eyes.

+++

          When Impulse woke, dim memories of choking on his own blood and having an arrow in his ribs echoing in his mind, he could feel a tube in his throat. Tango and Zedaph were pulling the usual Team ZIT-cat-pile and laying on him. Pulling them close, Impulse winced. His whole torso was one big bruise, it seemed.

          Yawning, he let his hand wander up Tango’s back as more of an unconscious move to reassure himself that they were there. Alive. Sniffing, Tango raised his head, eyes blurry and glazed over, not even halfway awake. A moment passed, and Impulse smiled at him. Tango returned it. Then, he buried his head in Impulse’s collarbone.

          In the room around them—an emergency one set up beneath the town hall where the bidding room once was—hermits were everywhere. Some were in better shape, helping Stress and Doc treat everyone. Others, like Xisuma and Wels and even Cleo, were so bad they were hooked up to ventilators. Dimly, Impulse realised that they needed the rest. They all did.

          Curling into Tango and Zedaph, Impulse closed his eyes.

Notes:

My shoulders ache, my dysphoria is strong, and my migraines are back. Also, getting Minecraft soon so I might start uploading videos on youtube (as goldstonewolf) soon. Love you!

Chapter 13: 12-Switchblade

Summary:

[Major TWs, full TWs for chapter are in ante-notes only]
Lately, some of the hermits haven’t felt great. Actually, that’s an understatement.

Notes:

TWs for: self-harm, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced suicidal thoughts, sharp objects, blood, mild gore, major gore, blood and injury, blood and gore, etc. (some of these are only possible). Stay safe, folks.
Also, this has been updated according to the new chapter index coming before October (talk about a race to the finish!)

Impulse~

          Sometimes, Impulse wondered if there was any reason for him to exist at all.

          He wasn’t anything special. He couldn’t build towers that scratched the sky like Xisuma or enormous mansions like Grian. He couldn’t create mountains or volcanoes from nothing like Scar or Iskall. He was no redstone master like Mumbo. Heck, he wasn’t even sure he belonged with the Boomers. He only dug up sand or dust. Tango or Bdubs could do that just as well as he could. He didn’t matter.

          So it was times like that where he worked.

          Impulse worked and he put his blood, sweat, and tears into his projects. Fighting exhaustion and sickness and his own body until he dropped. He didn’t have time for sleep, for eating. He didn’t have time for bruised or bandaged fingers.

          He was fine. Nothing was wrong with him at all. He was fine.

          That’s what he told himself as he worked on yet another project. The sun beat down on his back as he continued to work at the grindstone. His fingers ached and stung—he could see a few more scrapes and blood marking them.

          Looking over the side, Impulse barely registered that he had to be at least a hundred blocks off the ground. It was pretty high. You should jump. No one will care. It’ll be nice.

          For a moment, he considered it. He really did. He even thought about the fall, how the wind would rush through his hair. The way he would hit the ground and go splat. As crude as it was, he’d died from elytra failures and accidental missteps. He knew how it felt to die.

          On his wrist, his communicator buzzed. Impulse ignored it, rolling his shoulders. They ached. So did his neck, although he guessed that it may have been because of stress. On a moment’s impulse (ha), he pulled himself over the railing and held on to the top. Leaning forwards, he closed his eyes and let the wind buffet him. It played with his hair, murmured softly to him.

          Let go. Just let go. It’ll only hurt a moment. His mind echoed under the wind and he took a breath. Dimly, he could almost taste the pine forests on the breeze and an oncoming storm. His communicator buzzed and he glanced down to see Tango and Zedaph had messaged him.

          Not today, Impulse decided quietly. Not today.

+++

Xisuma~

Notes:

Short, I know.
Some of these fics will likely be shorter than others because it is less than a week before October starts and I have plans.

Chapter 14: 13-Can't Breathe

Summary:

Move Night Gone Wrong

Notes:

TWs listed in tags. Also, the horror movies are all made up. If you’ve guessed, I’ve never actually seen a horror movie and I’m not interested in watching one.
Nonbinary Xisuma because feck it, I’m already projecting here. (They/them pronouns because I’m still getting used to those as a possibility which is kind of sad considering I use them)
Note: edited because I managed to refer to Xisuma as he/him in the story not once but multiple times, so thank you to the lovely reader who pointed that out to me! (Because otherwise, I guarantee I would have continued to miss it. I think I wrote this while sleep-deprived). Additionally, some new stuff has been added.
Note Edit 2: I don't know how I missed the phrase "clapped Iskall on the face" because I did *not* mean that, so it's been edited to switch out face with back (I do not condone slapping friends in the face when having fun. Unless it's a very delicate love tap. Pain games are not okay)

          Logically, they should have been able to handle a movie.

          The hermits were throwing a horror movie party because it was rapidly approaching Halloween and they wanted to have some fun, so they were all gathered beneath the town hall (which had been changed into a functioning bunker house in light of some other events) and had another “no weapons” rule. After the disaster that had been the picnic where they got attacked by a raid, however, they made sure to have some weapons in the chests by their beds, where anyone could easily grab one when respawning.

          Bdubs was leaning against the side of one of the couches, a book in one hand and his other fingers combing through his hair. Next to him, actually on the couch, Doc and Cub and TFC were chatting casually. Maybe it was about the Turf Wars. Maybe it was about the rapidly-approaching Season 8 move. Maybe it was about nothing at all, and they were just shooting the breeze. Or even gossiping. Cleo and False were working on braiding Etho’s and Stress’ hair. Stress had Grian’s head in her lap and was braiding his bangs together, fooling around with them and talking about dyeing it the same red as his jumper. Side Kit was curled up with Jellie and Professor Beaks by Joe, who had been absolutely mobbed by his dogs. The animals were scattered all over him, a blanket of fur and feathers and snoring pets. Meanwhile, Joe was chatting away with Hypno and Iskall like it was nothing. The others were treating it with the same dignity, Iskall leaning on the edge of the empty doorframe, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Hypno glanced between the two with a goofy smile on his face, then clapped Iskall on the back and headed off into the kitchen.

          If Xisuma had to guess, Hypno was probably going to go and talk with Mumbo and Beef. They’d seen the two duck inside to get seconds on hot chocolate with the fluffy marshmallows someone had managed to collect from the swamp without getting eaten by one of Scar’s runaway plant projects (they didn’t talk about that). Ren, Wels, and Jevin were relaxing near the ladies, Etho, and Grian. All of them had hot chocolates littered across the coffee tables they’d dragged from several other people’s bases. Folding over in an impressive display of athleticism considering his full set of knight’s armour (someone would have to wrestle him out of it before they all went to bed, Xisuma mused sourly as they glanced down at their own armour. Someone—probably Keralis—would try the same with them), Wels grabbed a slice of the chocolate cake that Cleo had made off of the table. Then, he straightened up like he hadn’t done anything at all, and the conversation continued with the same energy. Speaking of energy, X had no idea where Zedaph, Impulse, or Tango were, and had a sinking feeling that they might all find out by explosion or death message.

          Taking a deep breath, they reassured themself that Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango were all fully functioning adults. Maybe also fully functioning idiots when they were all together, but still adults. They were responsible for themselves and did not need Xisuma mother-henning them every five minutes. Besides, Xisuma was pretty sure that they were probably just in the kitchen or off somewhere with Scar and xB. Those two could keep them handled…most of the time. Hopefully.

          Well, it wasn’t Xisuma’s problem yet, and they were going to relax unless they wanted Stress forcing sleeping potions into them (and the answer was no, Xisuma did not want Stress forcing sleeping potions into them. Again).

          As Xisuma looked around at their hermits, they felt a soft smile dancing across their face beneath their helmet. Someone settled in on their other side, close enough that X could feel them there but they weren’t pressing into them. When they looked over, they met Keralis’ bright gaze. “Hey, Keralis. How’s your day been?”

          Keralis grinned at them. “Pretty good. Think you can get everyone together for me? I want to put on a movie.”

          Xisuma grinned and then cleared their throat. That wasn’t enough to catch all the hermits’ attention, and they were well aware of that. No, that was Xisuma preparing to get their attention. They turned on the speaker amplifier for their voice just in case, then declared, “Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! Pay attention to me!” Everyone turned to them, and the ZIT Team poked their heads into the hallway with xB, Scar, Mumbo, Hypno, and Beef behind them. “Everyone out into the main room, please.”

          “I call the couch!” Tango yelled, picking up Zedaph and throwing the other man over his shoulder before barrelling into the main room with Impulse laughing on his heels. Whatever happened, Xisuma didn’t quite see, but there were several grunts and a painful sounding smack. Glancing at Keralis, they shook their head and then watched as the rest of the kitchen-dwelling hermits made their way to the main room in a much more dignified travel.

          “Alright, Team ‘We All Collectively Have One Braincell and Most of the Time None of Us Have It’, try not to kill us or the couch.” Doc said from where he was flattened beneath Impulse. Grinning sheepishly, the other hermit crawled off of him and then settled down beside the rest of his team.

          “I’d call you out for being rude but honestly I’m not sure you’re wrong.” Zedaph mused, earning him a soft elbow to the ribs from Tango, who he simply stuck his tongue out at. “Okay, X, what’d you want us for?”

          Xisuma glanced at Keralis, who was standing beside them in front of the TV, and then decided to do a flourish before throwing their arms in his direction as a, “pay attention to him”. Everyone obeyed, used to this kind of thing from not only the admin but pretty much everyone. Grian did that, Tango did that, so did about half of the more showy hermits (sometimes with their elytra wings, sometimes not, it didn’t particularly matter).

          Clapping his hands together, Keralis glanced over and said, “Thank you, Shishwammy.” He turned back to the hermits and continued, “Alright, so I think we should put on a movie marathon or something. There’s a bunch of options listed out, so—” Everyone cut him off with a bunch of chatter, and Xisuma smiled before wandering off into the kitchen as Keralis tried to gain control of everyone. They didn’t particularly care about what movies got put on—knowing the hermits, it would probably be something along the lines of The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad, Hocus Pocus, even Spooky Buddies or Scooby Doo if Joe had any say in it. Besides, X didn’t doubt their knowledge of the hermits, and the sun hadn’t even really gone past just gracing the horizon. Outside, the sky was a vibrant shade of pumpkin orange, with witch’s purple clouds dancing across the canvas. The stars hadn’t even shown their faces yet, so Xisuma was comfortable to look through the fridge and avoid being called upon to make any movie decisions for the time being. Maybe they could figure out how Cleo made her cakes taste so delicious compared to everyone else. They had a feeling it was something to do with the frosting, but as they looked at the small tub of chocolate icing in their hand they dismissed it. Not only was this one untouched, it was just the regular supermarket-store variety that had been imported from another world.

          “Trying to find something?” They jerked and nearly hit their head on the top shelf, then turned to see Cleo standing behind them. Smiling softly, they put the frosting back in its place.

          “Trying to avoid something, more like.” They admitted, and Cleo rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Drumming her fingers against her upper arms, she ducked around them and then grabbed some whipped cream. “What are you doing?”

          “Getting whipped cream.” Uncapping it and shaking it, she sprayed a line along her finger and then stuck the cap back on, sucking on her finger and then holding the can out to them. “It’s good.”

          Taking their helmet off, Xisuma balanced on one leg (once they had kicked the microwave door closed on a dare, they had good balance) and then did the same thing. The two shared a glance and then burst out laughing. “You’re not wrong.” Washing off their hand and shaking away loose drops of water, X closed the fridge door and then glanced at the main room. Inside, there was still quite a bit of discussion—mostly about whether or not they should cue up a movie for 3 am if they didn’t even know if any of them were going to be awake then. “So glad to not be making decisions.”

          “Really? You don’t have any control over the movie, then.” Cleo mused, leaning on the counters that Grian had carefully designed. There had been quite a few arguments about whether or not it was okay for there to be diorite in the kitchen (Iskall had adamantly protested, but Xisuma swore they saw some of the forbidden block in the corner where he wouldn’t be able to see it at a quick glance).

          “I make enough decisions as admin. I feel like letting go for something as simple as a movie is probably good for me.” She smiled and Xisuma returned it.

          “Hey!” Keralis poked his head into the kitchen. “Come join us, we picked a movie!” Someone threw a shoe past his head and yelled something, and Keralis whipped around to shout at them in Polish. Once they heard the Swedish, Xisuma realised with a smile that it was Iskall.

          Following Keralis and Cleo, Xisuma settled into the corner of the couch between the two and watched as the other hermits sort of…mobbed them. Everyone was ignoring most personal space, although Xisuma did appreciate that Keralis wasn’t quite leaning on them and neither was Cleo. The movie started, and for a little while they thought it was one they hadn’t seen. The opening instrumental began to play, added with narration.

          Then a Claymation tree with a jack o’ lantern carved into the wood appeared.

          All of a sudden, Xisuma recognised the movie that was playing and froze.

          Taking a short breath, they stared ahead. Their heart pounded in their throat and their vision sort of…blurred, they supposed. They weren’t breathing right.

          You’re fine, you’re fine. It’s just a movie.

          Xisuma was not fine. They knew things were going to go very, very wrong if they didn’t move and move soon. But that would involve getting the others’ attention and they couldn’t do that. Everyone was enjoying the movie. If they ruined it for the other hermits—no, they could handle it.

          (They didn’t have what they usually did to distract them. No phone, no communicator.)

          Turning, Xisuma coughed into their fist once as the instrumentals continued, thankful that they had chosen the edge of where everyone was sitting while simultaneously cursing themself for where they were. Sure, the corner of the couch was comfortable, but now they could feel nausea welling up in their stomach and maybe they weren’t coughing on anyone or touching anyone else but Keralis was leaning against their legs now and no, no, they couldn’t do this they couldn’t do this this was bad they had to—

          Focus, Xisuma. You are not ruining this for everyone else, do you understand? A weird sense of lightheadedness washed over them, and they dimly heard the lovely opening chorus of “This is Halloween” beginning. Sometimes, when they were working, the song would come around while listening to some of the other hermits’ playlists, and Xisuma moved to rip their earbuds without thinking. When their nails scratched the edges of their ears (of course they’d taken their helmet off, why had they taken their helmet off), they stopped and blinked a few times, shaking their head.

          They had to get out of there.

          Murmuring silent apologies to Cleo, Keralis, and the other hermits, Xisuma climbed around them all and then made their way outside and to the bathrooms in the Cowmercial district. Or at least, they tried. Their legs buckled when they got to the kitchen and they used the counters to slide down to the floor—they couldn’t breathe—they were fine they were fine they were fine this was stupid they shouldn’t be having a reaction like this—

          Breathe, breathe you idiot, come on, you can’t do this to everyone. Clapping a hand over their mouth, Xisuma squeezed their eyes shut and hunched over. They were going to throw up. That or they were going to hyperventilate. Or maybe die. They didn’t know which one.

          I’m dying. I’m going to suffocate. One hand clamped over their mouth, nails digging into their cheek. Their other was clutching their throat where a lump was choking them. The whole world was swimming around them. Am I having a panic attack?

          “X.”

          No, no, you let them know you’re going to ruin this for everyone.

          “X, hey, can I touch you?”

          A hand landed on their shoulder and they jerked away, sucking in a shaky breath. They were too loud, too loud, and they dug their fingers into their hair. Don’t scream don’t scream don’t scream you’re going to ruin this for everyone. You’ve ruined it already. You can’t do this to them, you idiot, come on! They could hear their own breathing, too fast but nothing they did helped them they had to calm down.

          Words were murmured somewhere off to their left, the side that wasn’t pressed into the oven like the darn appliance was a lifeline.

          Something soft and furry pressed into their body and at first they had no idea what was going on until Jellie started purring. “Oh, Jellie, no—I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop her.” Scar’s voice said quietly, and someone else—Xisuma had a feeling it was Keralis—replied softly. Gentle fingers pulled Xisuma’s hands away from their head and they tried jerking away after a moment.

          “No, no, I can’t let you go, X. I’m sorry but you’re hurting yourself.” Keralis said softly, and X sucked in a few more breaths. Oh, Ender, were they whimpering? Calm down you piece of—you’re embarrassing yourself in front of everyone! “Hey, hey, I don’t know what voice you’re listening to but it’s not me. Listen to me. X? Can you hear me?”

          “I can—” Words were hard why were words so hard they were going to die they needed their helmet where was their helmet—“My—my hel—”

          Someone pressed it into their hands and they shoved it on, opening their eyes and reading through the statistics it pulled up. They were having an attack of some sort—panic or anxiety, they couldn’t read from the way their tears were blurring their vision and everything was already fading in and out. “Can you hear me, Shishwammy?” Keralis asked, and X nodded. “Okay. Can I give you a hug?”

          Jellie was in their lap, purring still, and X shook their head. The hands on their wrists left and they very nearly sobbed with relief. “K-Keralis—”

          “I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here, it’s okay. I won’t leave, I swear.” Weakly, X nodded and then felt Jellie headbutting their fingers. Running their fingers into her striped fur, they felt their breathing slowing down gradually.

          Leaning their head against the drawers behind them and taking their helmet off again, Xisuma closed their eyes.

          “Hey, X.”

          The voice was soft. They opened their eyes, Then, Xisuma looked over at Keralis, who smiled and then held up a can of frosting. Usually, it was something that Cleo guarded with her life, only to be used when making the cakes that everyone wanted. Sure, they all had the same recipe, but for some reason…when Cleo made them they tasted better. “Hey, Keralis. What’s with the frosting?”

          With a deft flick of his wrist, Keralis showed off two spoons that he had been hiding somewhere on his person. “Feel like having some frosting?” He held out a spoon to Xisuma. Exhausted and tear-weary as they were, Xisuma reached out and took it. Meanwhile, Keralis popped open the frosting can and ripped off the silver at the top, digging his spoon in and then handing it over. It was pure chocolate—and probably pure sugar, completely unhealthy for them, but Xisuma found they didn’t particularly care about that.

          Shoving a massive spoonful in, they saw other people coming into the kitchen. Jokingly, Impulse knocked on the side of the pantry. “Hey. Mind if we come in?”

          Xisuma glanced at Keralis, the two shared a laugh, and then they beckoned everyone with a nod of their head.

Notes:

So on my playlist, I have my lovely trigger of “Nightmare Before Christmas” popping up with that stupid Disney Halloween playlist commercial. Meanwhile, people decided to set off fireworks outside of my house, and I can’t do fireworks either. (Long story that I don’t want to go into put simply, I do not like guns or what sounds like guns. In movies, I can deal with it. In real life? Hell no.)
Family isn’t always [insert some stereotypical definition of family here]. Sometimes it’s twenty-four adults, their pets, and occasionally three others who pop in whenever.
This was going to be different originally, and I very nearly switched it out to a different fic in general (which I could have done, I wrote my own prompts for this) but then I decided that I could mash them up. So…yeah, the OG ideal was “Xisuma has a panic attack during an all-server showing of ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ and tries to convince himself he’s fine; the rest of the server cares for him”. Anyways, still projecting my…movie anxiety with “Nightmare Before Christmas” onto the hermits, this time with Xisuma. Sorry if it’s getting boring, I’m unoriginal (jk, jk. I know it’s fine)
Originally I was going to finish up “Switchblade” (the chapter before this) but that one’s still stupidly taxing so I’m going to see if I can type up “Frostbite/Drowning” as well. Thanks, and I hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 15: 14-Frostbite/Drowning

Summary:

Scar is alone and travelling when things go wrong.
Good thing he’s not a cat.
And unfortunately, it happens twice.

Notes:

TWs in tags.

          The first thing that hit Scar when he came to was that he was floating.

          Blinking, he slowly began to open his eyes and found there was sunlight dancing on the surface of something far above him. What…happened? Icy dark water wrapped around him and he shivered once, bubbles escaping his mouth. Quietly, he mused, that might not be a good thing. I think I need air.

          Some part of him yelled at him to fight, to swim up, but honestly…he didn’t particularly want to. The water didn’t hurt. Sure, it was cold, but he was used to it. Maybe he could just…close his eyes…sink into the darkness…that sounded nice. Yeah, yeah, I can just…I can sleep here…I’m alright…

          There was some muffled shouting as he closed his eyes, but he was just so heavy. He didn’t want to—what was he doing?

          Snapping his eyes open, Scar lunged for the surface and tried to suck in a breath. Shadows danced in front of his vision—someone was swimming towards him. Water rushed into his lungs, and Scar tried to cough and only succeeded in managing to take in more water. No. No, no, no, I don’t—I can’t—I can’t die here I need to get home to Jellie!

          Hands grabbed underneath his arms and whoever it was had to be much stronger than he was. He was dragged towards the surface, and he clawed at them for a few moments. They let go. No, no, please, don’t—the darkness surrounded him again and he felt himself going limp. The hands returned and he was hauled towards the surface.

          Cold water split over his head and he gasped in a breath as frosty air surrounded him. “Don’t claw at me, Scar, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” Cub’s voice said in his ears, and Scar coughed painfully as water spilled from his mouth. “Get it out, get it out. You’re alright. Just let me pull you over—sorry about having to let you go, I can’t help you if I’m drowning, too.”

          Weakly, Scar nodded and allowed himself to be dragged over to the edge of the ice. He was lifted up and onto the frosty surface, feeling cold spike through his cheek. Hacking and retching, he spat up more and more water. Rough hands rubbed at his back and he choked a few times, forcing out, “Th-thanks.”

          “No problem. Just keep breathing.” Slowly, Cub scooped him up as he shivered, and then they were in the air. It was cold. Actually, it was freezing. Spikes of ice jolted through his whole body and he clung to Cub’s shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, I know, I know. We’re going to go into the Nether soon, hold on.”

          Weakly, Scar nodded, and they shot through an obsidian portal into the heat of the Nether. The ice and frost that had collected on his arms immediately began to melt, leaving him even more soaked than before. Squeezing his eyes shut, he kept clinging to Cub.

          He must have passed out at some point, because he came to in what he was pretty sure was Cub’s bed. Groaning, he opened his eyes and looked around. There was something fluffy and grey-white lying on his stomach, and something was stuck up his nose. “Wh—Jellie.”

          Meowing, Jellie lifted her head and looked at him, and a door somewhere off to his side opened. He tilted his head to the side and saw Cub walking in. A smile split the man’s face as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

          “Hey, Scar. How do you feel?” Cub asked softly, and Scar smiled and slowly tried to sit up. Reaching over, Cub helped him upright with one hand before handing him a mug of hot chocolate.

          “Thanks. Better.” Carefully, Scar adjusted the cannula tubes stuck in his nose and then blew on the hot chocolate. “How did I get here? And Jellie?”

          “We flew here and then Stress and TFC came to help out as well. And Grian found Jellie and brought her over, too.” In his lap, Jellie seemed to realise that they were talking about her and then quietly looked up. She met Scar’s gaze with her own green and then blinked slowly, closing her eyes for quite some time before headbutting his elbow. Smiling, he stroked his free hand down her back and then let himself settle against the bed’s headrest.

          “Sorry for stealing your bed.”

          Shrugging, Cub reached over and stroked Jellie’s spine, and she purred even more. “Don’t worry about it, this isn’t the one I sleep in. I have a ton of beds.” Scar smiled at that, and Cub grinned back at him. “Anyways, you should make a full recovery from the professionals’ opinion. Pretty lucky of you.”

          “Yeah, I know.” Cub got up to leave, and Scar cleared his throat. “Cub,” the man looked back to him, and Scar smiled softly, “Thanks.”

          Tipping his head to the side, Cub grinned and then ducked back into the hall.

+++

          The second time it happened, Scar wasn’t actually soaking wet, and he didn’t have anyone with him.

          Instead, he was wandering through the desert. Well, he supposed it wasn’t actually a desert. Maybe it was a mesa? Was that the right word? Either way, it wasn’t what he expected. Being cold in what should have been a hot climate. Logically, he should have been overheating if anything, not freezing his shoes off.

          But apparently, logic didn’t apply.

          Looking around and wondering where the heck all the monsters had gone, Scar sighed and glanced around even more. Dead bushes sprouted from the orange terracotta beneath his feet, and he could see some of it towering in the distance. He took a deep breath, watched his breath fog out in front of him. A bitterly frost-ridden wind blew across the…whatever it was, and he clutched his robes closer around him and shuddered so hard his teeth ached. Great.

          I think I’m lost, and I’m probably going to be stuck here for who knows how long.

          He didn’t have any extra elytra on him. Earlier in the day, he had. He’d had two extra sets on him, actually. But then Bdubs had needed a pair in order to get home after a glitch caught him in his usual respawn…whatever it had been to keep him falling for years. And then he had to fly out to End-knew-where to find some silly wild ocelot chase had been laid before him by the Mycelium Resistance and he had ended up burning through the last of his elytra and his rocket reserves.

          Stupid Resistance, he grumbled crossly, glaring around himself at the night-shrouded world. He had so long to walk and no idea how many blocks it was, all because a group of silly hermits didn’t know better. They didn’t know how damaging the mycelium was, of course, so he couldn’t exactly blame them.

          Kicking rocks in front of him and grumbling the entire time, Scar grumbled, Stupid mycelium. Causing all these projects. Projects? Problems. Making things difficult for everyone. Splitting the hermits again, this happened last season and that turned out great, didn’t it. First the Prank War, then Area 77, and then…Shaking his head and growling, Scar reached up and clutched his hat to his head as the wind threatened to blow it away. Stupid wind. So cold and…hurgh. Can’t wait to get home. That’s going to be great.

          On his hip, his communicator sparked. If he had to guess, it probably meant that he was getting messages, but the darned thing had fallen off when he’d crashed and now it was just…yeah. Not in the best of shape.

          He didn’t realise that he was falling until he realised the world was shifting around him.

          Trying to unfold his tattered elytra, Scar winced when he saw the ground rushing up to his face. Well, he supposed it was better than dying to hypothermia. Respawn would be easier. Quicker, too.

+

GoodTimesWithScar fell from a high place

<MumboJumbo> oof lol

<Iskall85> need help buddy?

+

          It was dark for a long while.

          Groaning, Scar lifted his head to find he was in his bed at base. A soft groan left his mouth and he reached up to feel, once again, tubes in his nose. “Oh, not again.” His voice was hoarse, his throat ached, and he was pretty sure he was wrapped in so many blankets he was less wizard and more burrito. In the corner of his eye, someone’s head popped up and Jellie was carried over and deposited on his stomach. “Oh, hi.”

          “Scar. How you feelin’, love?” Stress asked somewhere beyond his feet. The person who had dropped Jellie off was none other than Grian, the resident Door Thief and Pesky Bird and Jungle Bandit, etc, etc (he had so many titles and he had earned all of them). The gremlin other man grinned at him wickedly, and Scar let his eyes narrow. He was being treated by two Mycelium Resistance members. “Grian, either you get away from his bed and leave him alone or I will flip you like a spatula.”

          Holding up his hands, Grian backed away with a few soft chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on doing anything.” Stress scoffed and then looked back to Scar, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding a spoon of something to his mouth. Stubbornly, Scar kept his mouth closed.

          Rolling her eyes, Stress threatened, “Scar, if you don’t take this I will knock you out and force it down your throat with a tube. Now take the medicine before I resort to less savoury measures.” Staring at her and then glancing at Grian, who seemed just as terrified, Scar obediently took the medicine. Stress smiled like she had never said such a statement and cheerfully added, “Thank you, love! Now rest up, Xisuma will be here soon to check on you!”

          She left, and Grian shrugged before following her out. Jellie, meanwhile, laid down on Scar’s stomach, purring like a sawmill.

Notes:

I’m writing a D&D/Hermitcraft/Minecraft crossover. Just saying it here because someone might actually be interested in that. Uh…yeah, hope to see you in the next chapter!

Chapter 16: 15-Fever/Heatstroke

Summary:

On a hot day, some of the hermits are having a hard time. TFC is forced to take care of his stubborn friends.

Notes:

Likely OOC, as I have never watched one of TFC’s streams, but I don’t really know. It’s normally 60 F where I live and it hit 102 a couple days ago. That’s not for those of you who go by Celsius, so just…translate that into Fahrenheit.
Let’s begin.

          “TFC!”

          Looking up from his flowers, TFC saw Keralis winging up as quickly as possible. There was someone dangling in his arms, limp and unconscious. Oh, dear. That can’t be good. Slowly, TFC hauled himself to his feet. He already knew this had something to do with the hot weather today (and possibly Xisuma as well).

          It was a hot day, there was no denying it. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the air was so dry he could feel it prickling on his skin. Painted across Keralis’ face, panic shimmered like a desert mirage. Except it wasn’t a mirage, it was real. “What happened?” TFC asked, and Keralis carefully landed. Sure enough, it was Xisuma in his arms. One of the admin’s hands was thrown over his stomach, the other dangling limply in the air.

          “He just—Shishwammy collapsed! We were working and—and—I thought I—I thought you might know and—” Gasping, Keralis looked around. TFC carefully took Xisuma’s limp form and began carrying the admin inside.

          “You did the right thing. Don’t worry.” Going over to the bed, TFC gently set Xisuma down. Then, he strode over to the cauldron, soaked a towel, and returned to Xisuma’s side. He quickly worked the helmet off and placed the wet cloth on his forehead. “Help me remove his armour, we need to cool him down.”

          “Yes, sir, of course.” Keralis ran over, shoulders and hands still shaking. Once they were done, TFC took Xisuma’s temperature. 104. Not good. He pulled his communicator out.

<TinFoilChef> If anyone gets heatstroke, bring them to me as quickly as possible.

+++

          The next person to come by was Zedaph, Tango in tow and Impulse in his arms.

          Panic was apparently a common emotion. Etho had stopped by to drop ice off—and lots of it. The moment TFC saw Tango and the way the man was stumbling, he knew they’d need it. “Oh, you’re okay. You’re okay. Keralis!”

          Holding his bucket, Tango heaved again, knees buckling. TFC grabbed him, helped him to the ground. Zedaph looked torn between following Keralis, who was carrying Impulse, or staying with Tango and TFC. “Go—go with—” Crying, Tango waved Zedaph away and then began retching. TFC stayed crouched by him even though his knees would ache like the nether later. He rubbed circles between the younger man’s shoulders, glancing after Zedaph as he sprinted away.

          Once enough time had passed without Tango coughing into the bucket, TFC carefully scooped him up and carried him inside. Keralis was coaxing water into Impulse on the floor. Tango’s head fall against TFC’s shoulder.

Xisuma died of heatstroke

          Swearing, Keralis resting Impulse back on the ground and raced to Xisuma’s bed. The admin had already respawned, and was now wheezing.

          Outside, TFC could see more hermits flying over. Tango groaned softly in his arms.

          This would be a long day.

+++

Grian died of heatstroke

Tango died of heatstroke

Impulse died of heatstroke

       TFC cradled Stress’ head in one hand, coaxing cool water into her. There were only five sick hermits, and twice as many to care for them, but sadly it seemed their suffering friends weren’t meant to have a good time. Xisuma had been intubated, and TFC had a feeling Doc was transporting over another ventilator or maybe a shulker of potions. It was more of a reassurement than a treatment.

          “False, Cleo, take her.” TFC went to Grian’s side, stroked his hair back. A low groan left Grian’s throat and he opened his eyes. “Hey, you’ll be alright.” Nodding, Grian closed his eyes and relaxed.

          They’d be alright.

Notes:

TFC strikes me as the dad or granddad of the server.
See you in the next one!

Chapter 17: 16-Zombie Spawn Camp

Summary:

What it says on the tin. TWs in tags.

Notes:

Again, what it says on the tin. If this is late, I really don’t care. I’m just trying my best to get these all done.

          Claws ripped up Impulse’s back.

          Screaming, he spun and slashed at the zombie behind him. It growled and he dodged back. In the curve of his waist, right beneath his ribcage, was a spurt of fiery pain. He glanced down, saw a zombie holding a sword. Come on. Teeth chomped down on his shoulder and he screamed again. Oh, come on!

          Dropping to his knees, he closed his eyes as another zombie leapt on his back. His chin smacked against the floor. Gravel and grass smashed into his face—one of his shulker boxes had been thrown over.

impulseSV was slain by Zombie

+++

          Xisuma looked up and frowned. It’s the middle of the…He glanced outside of his current base and frowned. Night. Oh. Okay, maybe I need a break…once I finish the—

impulsSV was slain by Zombie

          Is he in a cave or something? Xisuma paused. Looking over his current project, he sighed and then shoved it away. Guess I should take that break earlier, then. Make some tea.

          “Xisuma!” Turning, Xisuma saw TFC flying up. The oldest hermit kicked his legs forwards and landed elegantly, wings folding up behind him as he strode forwards. So jealous—how does he do that? Xisuma mused, then smiled at him. “How are you doing this fine evening?”

          “Pretty good. Is something wrong?” Pausing by one of his farms, Xisuma pulled up his screens to check the efficiency. TFC reached over and gently took his arm away, and Xisuma looked to him curiously. Then he realised it. “Oh. You’re here to make me take a break.”

impulseSV was slain by Zombie

          Both of them glanced at their communicators. TFC held Xisuma’s wrists a little harder. “Come on, X. You need to take care of yourself, too. Let’s go have some tea, alright?”

          With a sigh, Xisuma studied the chat for a little while.

<Tango> Yo imp you alright?

<Zedaph> Imp we need an answer

<Cubfan136> I’ll go grab his stuff, I know where he was earlier

<Tango> thanks

<Tango> Zed come help me check on him at his base

          He took another breath, and then looked at TFC. A small smile crossed his face beneath his helmet. “Alright, TFC. Tea sounds great.”

          TFC clapped a hand on his shoulder and then led him into his house.

+++

impulseSV was slain by Zombie

          Weakly, Impulse raised his head and looked up at the zombie. There must have been a glitch. It had to be a glitch—sure, he wasn’t always one to remember lighting up his base, and he’d been busy, but he had specifically set apart a day to light up everything. He’d had to, a creeper had blown up one of his farms and then he’d had to repair it and decided to work on lighting up everything.

          There wasn’t just one zombie. It was almost like someone had set a spawner somewhere. There was just one zombie after another that he could see, and he dragged himself to his feet for the fourth time in the past hour. Come on, come on. Get up. Please. He was begging himself. Maybe, just maybe, he might be able to—

          Claws ripped at his throat before he could even get to his sword, and he crumpled to the ground again. Sharp, rotting teeth dug into his shoulder. Already, he knew it was going to be a jagged wound, and he whipped around to look at the beast. Come on, Impulse. You have to think—what do you do what can you do—

          Green hands scrabbled at his face and everything went dark as he felt a tug on his head.

impulseSV was slain by Zombie

          “Please…” Who was he talking to? The zombies didn’t care. No one was around (maybe no one cared about him). “Just stop…” Shoving weakly at one of them, he closed his eyes and felt the zombies swarm him again. Impulse was tired…so, so tired.

          The last thing he heard was rockets firing off, and he swore Tango and Zedaph shouted his name.

Notes:

Leaving an ambiguous ending because why not.
(Also, just so you know, there's always a lag of a couple days between the posting of this kind of fic and when it was written, so the notes are pretty much always outdated and anything that's going on has been dealt with most of the time. And this is the last one for the 23rd)
Anyways, see you in the next one!

Chapter 18: 17-Whipped

Summary:

Also what it says on the tin. Sort of.
Xisuma leaves for a while, and a temporary admin by the name of Asgardian comes in and decides to watch over Hermitcraft. A prank goes wrong, and Asgardian decides that the hermits need a little harsher punishment. When Xisuma comes back, he’s not exactly happy with what happened.

Notes:

This one might have more updates as I decide to write more, because there’s a lot I could write with this. If y’all want, I’ll write this as a separate fic (like take the idea and change some stuff around). Featuring werewolf Ren!
Lol this may not seem true but I actually support the Mycelium Resistance in the Turf Wars, but I will not deny that the HEP is doing an admirable job. Everyone is actually doing a really nice job ignoring everyone trying to give out spoilers.
TWs are in tags, as always. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one!

Present Time…

          How did this happen?

          Xisuma stared down at Grian, who whimpered as TFC gently tried to clean off his wounds. “Ssh, Grian. It’s okay.” Stress whispered, gently carding her fingers through his blond hair. Nodding, he whimpered as the movement pulled at the injuries—large, bloodied red slashes over his whole back and his shoulders. He wasn’t the only injured hermit, he was just one of the worst ones. Wels, Iskall, Scar, and the last two members of ZIT were hurt, too. (Speaking of team ZIT, Zedaph was currently missing. Whether Asgardian had done something to him or he had just managed to get away from the temporary admin, no one was sure. They just had to pray he showed up again soon.)

          Smoothing Grian’s hair back, Stress glanced up at Xisuma and seemed to notice the self-loathing on his face. She met his gaze and said, “X.” The tone was quiet, and Grian whimpered again as TFC continued to clean the wounds. False, Mumbo, and Jevin flew through the halls outside, flapping their elytra wings. Clearly, they were going after Zedaph. They had no need to worry about Asgardian. As soon as he had seen what the new admin had done to his hermits, Xisuma had banned him immediately. They would never have to deal with him again.

          Looking at her, he smiled tiredly. “Hey, Stress. What’s up?”

          “It’s not your fault.” She said, and TFC glanced over and then nodded once. Xisuma glanced to the side. “X. It’s not.”

          There was a hoarse groan, and they all looked at Grian as he moved. Wincing and breathing heavily, he grabbed X’s wrist and forced a pained smile. Blood still dripped from the cut above his eye, red and heart-wrenching. “Come on, X. Don’t…blame yourself…for this…” A weak cough shook his shoulders and he rested his head on the pillow again. Wheezing, he closed his eyes as TFC kept working, but his face slackened and so did his grip. All three of them held their breath for a collective moment, until each saw the movement of Grian’s ribs.

          TFC touched the young man’s hair again, still holding a bloody towel in one hand. With a sigh, he said, “He’s just unconscious. He’ll be alright, Xisuma.” Still stunned, Xisuma nodded once. “Don’t blame yourself, Xisuma. Everything’s fine. Everyone will be fine.”

          But they wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me.

+++

Two Hours Ago…

          Xisuma spotted the familiar cyan seas of the Cow-mercial District ahead of him.

          Beneath his helmet, a grin split his face. He’d had to take a journey away from Hermitcraft to check on Ex and make sure everything was good with them and the others. While he was gone, since he didn’t want any of his hermits to stress, he’d asked someone named Asgardian to watch over the server for him. Tango and False were there to help when possible. He had had a nice trip checking in on the others. Ex and Hels and everyone else had had fun.

          That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t happy to be back, though.

          As the green grass that Scar had painstakingly placed upon the shopping districts’ islands swept up beneath him, Xisuma kicked his legs forward and then prepped for a landing. It was a lot smoother than he expected, actually. Still grinning, he looked around and then pulled out his communicator. It buzzed in his hand. Oh, perfect timing, he mused, wonder what’s going on.

          When he saw the message, his heart actually dropped in his chest.

Docm77 tried to swim in lava escaping Asgardian

          What? What happened? Pausing, Xisuma glanced around and then ducked into the nearest shop—Impulse’s Em and Em Emporium. Pressing his back to the wall, he pulled out his communicator and began talking to Doc, since clearly something had happened. And since Doc wasn’t an idiot, he had a sinking feeling that it was the fault of the temporary admin. What did they do? What did they do to my hermits?

<Xisuma whispers to Docm77> Are you alright?

          The reply wasn’t immediate, and his heart pounded the entire time. Forcing himself to take a few breaths, Xisuma reassured himself that they’d be fine. When Doc did finally reply, it only have more questions than answers. It was nothing more than a few sentences, brief and short and to the point. No reasoning for why Asgardian might have killed him. Not even a hint.

<Docm77 whispers to Xisuma> I’m fine. Find me underneath Grian’s mansion.

          Taking a breath, Xisuma unfolded his elytra and shot out of the Cowmercial District, flying into the Nether and praying he hadn’t been seen.

+++

Present Time…

          Xisuma looked in at Tango and Impulse, taking a breath as he pressed a hand to the glass window. Both of them were pale and Xisuma thought that they might be dead. Ventilator tubes threaded down their throats and a spurt of guilt smashed through X’s chest once again. “X,” a hand settled on his shoulder and he looked over to see TFC standing beside him, “you can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known about Asgardian.”

          “They wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me. I asked Asgardian to come here.” He whispered, staring at Impulse and Tango. Tango was wheezing every so slightly, and his head tipped to the side. For a moment, Xisuma thought he was about to watch his friend die. Stress walked around from where she had been checking Impulse’s vitals and gently stroked Tango’s hair back from his face. He turned to look at her, heart monitor spiking a little bit. Xisuma started biting on his knuckles, watching the two.

          Your fault, your fault. They’re dying and it’s your fault.

          “I—I can’t—” Taking a shuddery breath, Xisuma turned and hurried down the halls of the makeshift medical room. His stomach was doing backflips. As he passed by Iskall and Scar’s room, all he could think of was that it was his fault. He had brought Asgardian here. He had done this to his hermits.

          Did he even deserve to be admin anymore?

          No, he didn’t think so. But who would he pass the job on to? Iskall, Scar, Tango, Impulse, and Grian were all too injured. Zedaph was missing. Even if he wasn’t hurt, Tango was also one of the backup admins (he hadn’t meant to stress them that was why he picked Asgardian he thought that Tango and False deserved a small break from their duties and he’d only made it worse). False was a backup admin, too, she didn’t need that kind of stress. Everyone else was worried about their friends or had their own flaws, there was no way he could abandon them now—not again. Not after he’d already caused so much damage. But could he be trusted with the position?

          There were shaky footsteps behind him, limping heavily. For a brief moment, Xisuma swore he’d turn to find a monster, some other ghost from his past, standing behind him. Maybe even Ex. “Xisuma.”

          Turning, he met the dark, slightly clouded gaze of Grian.

+++

Two Days Ago…

          Zedaph’s footsteps slapped against the cobblestones of the Cowmercial District and he sucked in breaths, looking over his shoulder every so often.

          His heart pounded in his throat, and he could feel the blood roaring in his ears. He had to get away, he had to run and run fast. He’s going to find me. He’s going to find me. Tears welling up in his eyes at the memory of how Impulse’s face had looked, splashed with terror as his eyes stared out at nothing as he dropped deeper into shock, Zedaph scrubbed at his face and then spread his elytra, firing off multiple rockets. Shoulder colliding with the hard obsidian of the Nether portal, he screamed and then felt the familiar flips in his stomach as he hit the netherrack and ate the floor.

          “No, get up. You need to run.” Impulse’s voice whispered in the back of his mind.

          “Zedaph, get out of here! Go! Run!” Shaking, Zedaph staggered to his feet and felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Unfolding his elytra, he took off again and sobbed, tears welling up in his eyes as he flew. The Nether flew by and he left at the furthest portal away, heading away from the shopping district. He had to go, he had to stay away.

          He had to get as far away as possible, and if he never saw any of the other hermits until after Asgardian was long gone, then that was okay.

+++

Present Time…

          Zedaph coughed weakly, raising his head as he looked around the dark pit he was trapped in. You’re okay, he whispered to himself even as zombies snarled deeper in the caves around him. Shaking, he pulled his tattered elytra closer as a blanket and closed his eyes, shoulders shuddering as he cried.

          I want to go home. His broken communicator spat out electricity every so often, and he ran a hand up into his dust-and-grease-matted hair. His stomach growled—he didn’t remember the last time he ate anything. Food hadn’t been on his mind when he bolted.

          When he abandoned the others.

          Jolting at the memory of Iskall, trapped with one of his arms pinned between two pistons weighted down with iron blocks, bloodied and unconscious, Zedaph snapped his eyes open. He pushed himself away from the centre of the room, pressed his thin frame to the wall behind him. He’d fallen. His elytra were broken. He was out of the rockets, and terribly lost, and he was going to starve to death. At least I don’t have much valuables on me.

          But I’m not going to respawn at home, I’m going to be in the middle of the desert. No one’s going to know where I am. Sucking in quick breaths, he glanced up at the dim moonlight shining down through the gap in the ceiling. He’d fallen through a desert temple, hit the bottom of the pit. Someone had been there, once upon a time, so there was nothing he could use in the chests and nothing more than hard sandstone bricks beneath his back.

          Whenever he closed his eyes, the others’ faces would jump back to his vision. It’d been a prank, a way to introduce Asgardian to the server. They thought that he might take it well. They meaning the ZIT team and Grian, of course. But things had gone wrong, and Asgardian decided that they needed an actual punishment. He was nothing like Xisuma.

          And then False and Wels and Scar and Iskall had jumped in, too, and then they were being punished, too. Everything had fallen apart and Xisuma wasn’t going to be back for a while and Zedaph’s communicator was broken and he was lost. He was going to die out in the wilderness and no one would know and he wouldn’t know when it was okay to come back. No one had a tracker on him. What if Asgardian had managed to perma-kill the others? What if Asgardian managed to find him?

          Squeezing his eyes shut and gripping his hair like a lifeline, Zedaph pulled his knees to his chest, tried to calm his breathing. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. Nothing was working, nothing was okay, everything was going wrong and they were all going to die they were going to die if they hadn’t died already what if Asgardian had killed everyone else on the server permanently and Zedaph was the only survivor? He’d heard of that kind of thing happening before, he knew it could happen and he didn’t want that to happen.

          Come on, Zedaph. Calm down, calm down, you’re alright. You’re okay. He wasn’t alright, he was anything but alright he was going to die. They were all going to die if they weren’t dead already. Asgardian was going to—

          The look on Impulse and Tango’s faces as they watched him run flashed back into the forefront of his mind. They’d been so terrified, bloodied and injured and it was his fault and they had been fighting so hard, holding back the door as Asgardian tried to force his way in. Then the door blew open and Impulse had been thrown against the wall, he couldn’t walk. Zedaph knew from the way that he tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t move, from the brief panic that had crossed his face as Tango braced his back against the door. Then Asgardian shoved a blade through the gaps, impaled Tango, and they’d both yelled at him to run. They’d been happy. His friends had been dying and he’d abandoned them and they were happy. They were proud he was being a coward.

          What have I done?

          Curling up, Zedaph sobbed again.

+++

Two Hours Ago…

          Xisuma landed at the coordinates and was almost immediately tackled by a snarling werewolf.

          Fangs bared and eyes narrowed, the beast snapped its jaws shut. Scrambling back, Xisuma raised his hands, and the werewolf stopped. Fresh scars marred its muzzle, still pink and oozing blood in some areas. Wincing, Xisuma stretched a hand forwards, and the werewolf touched his palm. “Hey, Ren. What happened?”

          Ren jerked his head, sinking down onto all fours, and then led the way deeper into what was once a taiga village. A hiding spot? Why would they need to hide? He wondered, the sinking feeling in his chest only deepening as he noticed the ransacked state of the place. The village had long been abandoned, some of the windows thrown open. Dried blood spattered some of the cobblestones.

          They came to what was once one of the barracks, and Xisuma glanced at Ren. Rather than speak, the werewolf nodded at the door and then returned to his post outside the village. When he had burrowed all of his massive girth into the snow, the brown of his fur nearly blended into the podzol visible in several areas. Taking a breath, Xisuma turned back to the door and twisted the frosted brass knob, stepping inside.

          Inside, several people looked up. Fear split their expressions, quickly washed away by a tidal wave of relief. False rose from her seat, dropping her sword, and then threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “You’re back.” She whispered, and Xisuma hugged her back before looking to the other hermits. They were all ragged, worn. Wels was lying on his back in a bed, armour removed and barely breathing. What happened? What could get them all to—

          Asgardian.

          Bristling suddenly, Xisuma took a breath and False stepped back. As he took in the other hermits, he counted who was there and who was missing. Impulse was gone, as were Tango, Grian, and Iskall. Stress and Keralis were tending to Scar, dark circles beneath their eyes and concern creasing lines that shouldn’t have been there. Jevin, Mumbo, Hypno, and TFC were all looking at a map of the area. Cub, Beef, xB, and Cleo were standing by at a potions station, while Doc had recently respawned on a bed and was bandaging his injuries with Joe’s help. Not a single one of them was unscathed—there were bruises and scrapes and splints.

          The door opened, and Etho limped inside. One of his eyes had been blackened, and when he met Xisuma’s gaze he nodded once and then passed something to False. “Still no sign of Zedaph. I checked his base, Tango’s, Impulse’s…there’s just nothing. He disappeared.” Sighing, he looked to Xisuma and said, “One heck of a vacation, eh?”

          False touched his shoulder, and Etho sent a look her way before stumbling off to one of the chests. There was a crossbow bolt embedded in one of his shoulders, and TFC called xB and Beef over to help him treat it before Etho could even think of protesting. “What did he do?” Xisuma asked, looking to False. She met his gaze and then hesitated, looking back out across their remaining friends. What was left of their family.

          “It’s not your fault.”

Notes:

Ironically, not very many of these have ended up being as similar to the prompts as I would like. Eh, I guess it doesn’t particularly matter.
Anyways, I know these are late. I’m probably not finishing this series before October ends, but at this point I don’t think I mind. Still working on the D&D Hermits series (it’s got a name now—“The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown”, which is obnoxiously long but it’s literally only something I’m doing for me. So it can have an obnoxious name. If you want to read it, I might also try and do some storyboard stuff for it, so that I can practice for my future major. If you don’t want to…just ignore this.)
Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, I hope you have a great day, thank you for reading, and I hope to see you in the next chapter!

Chapter 19: 18-Broken Bones

Summary:

Iskall’s not an expert on broken bones, but he’s pretty sure that his foot isn’t supposed to bend that way.

Notes:

TWs should be in tags. If I missed any, feel free to let me know. Uh…additionally, this one will likely be a little shorter than the others are. Certainly shorter than the last one.
Poor Iskall, he hasn’t had an easy track record with the last two. (Still luckier than Grian, Impulse, and Xisuma, though).

          Iskall wasn’t an expert on broken bones, but one look at his foot and he had a pretty bad feeling that his joints weren’t supposed to bend that way.

          Sitting at the foot of the cliff where he’d just fallen off of after not checking his elytra, he sighed and slumped against the sheer rock face behind him. Honestly, it was pretty embarrassing to have been caught like this. He was supposed to be a professional, and he had derped up even more than Xisuma sometimes did. Which was saying something, because Xisuma could derp things up pretty badly. (Iskall loved the guy, don’t take that the wrong way, but he could also admit that sometimes the dude didn’t think a lot).

          Stretching out his stiff muscles, Iskall winced and then rubbed his injured leg above his knee. That wasn’t where the injury was. Nope, the injury was in his left ankle and foot…which was currently pointing away from his body. Now, that wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact his toes were at a right angle to his knee and the throbbing pain shooting through his boot. Any movement hurt, actually.

          Taking a breath, he debated between swallowing his pain and swallowing his pride. On the one hand, he didn’t want to be laughed at for a rookie mistake. On the other, he didn’t want to make it worse, and with his elytra broken he would have to walk home. Even if they hadn’t been broken, he wouldn’t be able to land.

          When he checked who was close enough to receive messages though, he sucked in a breath. Tango, Mumbo, Grian…all of them might make fun of him (or, in Mumbo’s case, fret over him until Iskall would rather deal with the pain in his foot than the bleeding from the ears). Oh, Ren’s on. He’ll help.

          You don’t need help, you—

          Shut up. Forcing his ego down into the tiniest hole he could, at least for the time being, Iskall dialled Ren’s number. He could feel sorry for himself and all embarrassed later, this really wasn’t the time. “Hello?” Ren asked, and Iskall took a breath.

          “Hi, are you free?”

          “What is this, Iskall?”

          “Are you free?”

          “Yes? Should I be worried?” Ren asked, and Iskall had a moment to debate just saying it was a prank call and trying to get home himself. That wouldn’t do. He could practically see Xisuma standing over him, arms crossed, as he scolded Iskall for only hurting himself further.

          Sighing, he said, “I’m pretty sure I broke my foot and I need help to get home. Do you—”

          “On my way, stay where you are.” Ren hung up, and Iskall sent him the coordinates, then sat back against the cliff face and crossed his arms. As he looked up into the sky, which was fading from a bright orange to a dusky rose and faded periwinkle in several areas, he closed his eyes and cursed himself a few times for being such an idiot. He should have checked his elytra.

          Well, no changing the past now. Glancing down at his foot, he wryly mused, guess I’ll have learned the painful lesson for the future, though.

          Ren didn’t arrive too long after sunset, gliding down to the outcropping Iskall was on and then wincing. “Oh, that’s not gonna be helped by a regen potion. I can tell right now.” Crouching by Iskall’s foot, he touched where there was a rather large bulge that shouldn’t have been there. Hissing, Iskall jerked his leg away and then cried out, grabbing his injured leg. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I think we’re going to be lucky if that didn’t break the skin. I’m going to cut your boot off and then splint it, alright?”

          Sighing, Iskall looked away and stared at where twilight had shaded the valley below. “I was due for a new pair of boots anyways. Think the leather shop in the Cow-mercial District is still open?” Ren chuckled, then began cutting the boot off and pulling supplies from his inventory. Sticks, string, and a few thick layers of bandages, even an extra cloth shirt.

          “I’ll see if I can get your size and stop by tomorrow. You can repay me later.” There was a tone of if I’ll let you to Ren’s voice, and Iskall nodded. Fresh, cold air rushed around his foot, and he winced a few times as Ren gently prodded it. “Okay, don’t look—”

          Iskall looked.

          Eyes widening, he choked out, “Oh my gosh, that’s disgusting. What—” Ren reached up and pushed his head away so that he was looking back over the edge.

          “I told you not to look!” Gagging and closing his eyes, Iskall shuddered when the sight of his leg, swollen to twice its normal size at his ankle and definitely a shade of purple that competed with Zedaph’s eyes, flashed across the back of his eyelids. Gross. Gross, I’m going to puke. “Don’t you dare puke, Iskall. If you do, I’m getting Tango and Grian. They’re better with…that than I am.”

          “Oh, please don’t get them.”

          “I’ll do it.”

          “You wouldn’t dare.” Ren shot him a look, and Iskall took a few breaths through his nose. He was not going to throw up, he was going to be fine. Taking a few breaths, he frowned as an odd sense of something fell over him. “Ren…I think I’m gonna…pass out…”

          He did pass out.

          He woke up twice, in between then and when his leg was fixed. The first time, he was in Ren’s arms as the other man flew him towards the clinic. After looking around, hearing Ren try reassuring him, he’d passed out again. Then, he’d woken up in the clinic, Doc pressing an oxygen mask to his face and talking about how he’d wake up and everything would be alright.

          When Iskall stirred, he was lying on his back in a bed, an IV in his arm that he decided not to look at and apparently not the only one. Ren was gone, so was Doc. Of course, the clinic was rarely empty, since they had Grian and the ZIT team constantly getting in trouble. The shock was that none of them were currently hospitalized. Rather, it was Scar and False. The latter had her arm wrapped in bandages, Stress helping her clean off a cut on her face. Across the aisle, Scar was just there (he had a lot of stops at the clinic. Sometimes his medicine didn’t work, other times it was just for his monthly checkup).

          Relaxing, Iskall huffed out a short breath and looked down at his leg. His whole foot was encased in a cast, all the way from his toes to part of the way up his calf. Hey, nice, they matched it to my eye. He mused, studying the pale blue and then taking another breath. Closing his eyes, he let himself sink back into the ambrace of whatever painkillers he was on.

          Everything else could wait, he had time.

Notes:

I have only ever broken one bone. It was my left middle finger and I was three (I was being a derp and stuck it in my dog’s collar).
Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope you have a great day. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 20: 19-Prank Turned Pain [will be a preview]

Summary:

Alternatively titled, “Boys Will Be Boys”. The ZIT Team gets up to some shenanigans and promptly end up getting in trouble. Of course, when they were taping swords to striders and running away with fungus on a stick in hand, they…kind of deserve some of what’s coming to them.

The next one is a real chapter, but my motivation and inspiration have left me like a country singer's wife and his dog (and possibly his truck as well). 

 

Came up with the ZIT team for this because they strike me as perfectly intelligent human beings, but when they're together they give off Big of Mischief, Dumb of Ass energy and that's the only way to describe it. 

Also, new note! This is Gold from 2021 (hii!!) uhh this chapter will be posted as a separate work because he a big un so this will be a preview instead! I’m just going through and updating old stuff to work with the newer bits coming in. Thanks for the patience, it’ll be coming soon and like a tank!

Chapter 21: 20-Scars

Summary:

Some of the Hermits finally get a look at what Sam once did to Grian.

Notes:

TWs should be in the tags, let me know if I missed something. Some references to Yandere High School, but you don’t have to have watched it to understand it because it doesn’t matter too much.
Anyways, if Tango and the others needed more of a reason to hate Sam after the first official chapter of this fic, then...they’re getting it. Just a note, here’s some extra TWs: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Self-harm, Self-harm Scars, Scars, more to be added upon request.

          They were at the beach, and Grian sat on the sand quietly before looking out across the ocean.

          The other hermits were all gathered at the edges of the water or in it, so he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to swim. Cleo was hiding underneath an umbrella, glancing out at the sun with narrowed eyes and then turning to look over what Joe was writing as he laid stomach-down on the blankets. Ren wasn’t quite in the water, more on the damp sand where the waves washed by as he threw out his fishing line. Xisuma and Keralis were lying on their backs, cloudgazing and occasionally pointing out some cloud or other.

          Dripping wet, Tango stumbled up. “Not joining us, Grian? Everything alright?” Behind him, Impulse and Zedaph stumbled around, laughing. Zedaph threw a bucket of seawater at Impulse, who raised his hands in defence and looked away like it’d help anything. In response, Impulse tackled him to the sand and they sort of wrestled a bit until Zedaph tried to jam the bucket over Impulse’s head as a joke.

          Smiling and watching the two with a bit of concern, Grian crossed his arms and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m alright. I’m just…not a huge fan of the water.” Pulling his jumper sleeves around him, Grian glanced down at the pale pink and magenta scars on the inside of his wrists. Ones he’d caused…sure, they’d been a result of Sam’s abuse, but still…Shaking himself, he looked over at Tango and smiled softly.

          “Well, do you think you’re comfortable enough to at least take your sweater off? I think I have an extra tank top in my bag—” Grian glanced down at his jumper and then shrugged. Pulling his arms into his sleeves and close to his body, he grunted a few times before managing to haul it off of himself. When he did, he heard Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango let out little gasps.

          Oh, right. The other scars. He mused, setting his jumped down beside him and then musing after a moment I suppose they’d find out anyways. He was okay with they did find out, now that he thought about it. Opening his eyes and folding up the jumper, he looked to them with a soft smile. “I’m alright.”

          “Did—Did he do this?” Tango asked, crouching beside him and reaching towards one of the scars on his shoulder. Immediately, Grian knew the one he was reaching for—a deep, thick purple one. It was ropy, a little raised, from when Sam had cut him with a knife. Grian knew he had a lot of scars, actually. Vicious ones, too.

          Some were from the time that Taurtis crashed a bus. Others were from a time when Sam wanted him to wake up and decided he wasn’t up early enough, had taken a butcher’s knife and nearly gutted him. Not the best awakening that Grian had ever had, although he’d somehow managed to have worse. The hermits didn’t know about those awakenings (Sam was also responsible for those, and dangling off of their apartment building had been much more terrifying than falling while wearing his elytra had ever been).

          If he had to be honest, the scars he worried about people seeing were the ones on his arms, ones that he’d caused. Yes, they were a result of Sam’s treatment of him, but he had caused them himself. Mumbo and Scar knew about those, as did Xisuma, but Grian had a feeling that the others had a few suspicions but nothing more. Now, they were all on full display—his shoulders, back, all of it. The gunshot wounds and the knife slashes and where the doctors had once had to pull shattered glass out of his chest and stomach.

          Meeting Tango’s gaze and smiling tiredly, Grian asked, “Sam?” When Tango hesitated and then nodded, Grian smiled a little wider and said, “Yeah, it was him. They’re old. Well…some are from the yakuza.”

          “Hold on, you were involved with a gang?”

          “Euhh…Sam’s…an acquaintance of mine was. She…” Biting his lower lip, there really wasn’t a good way to explain it, Grian coughed into his elbow and then said, “She’s gone now. But her dad was part of the yakuza, and they were…not happy with us at a couple points.”

          “Wow.” Sitting down beside him, Impulse glanced over and then at Grian’s wrists. “Oh. You—”

          “Yeah. I’m better now…most of the time.” Impulse’s eyes darkened just a little bit. Laughing softly, Grian nudged him and added, “I’m okay, don’t worry about me too much. Besides, Mumbo’s threatened to take all of my stuff and put it in a bunch of KGOOMRs that only he and Scar know the location of. And then Iskall has his own threats, too, so…yeah. I’m good.”

          Impulse sighed, then looked him in the eyes and said, “If you’re feeling…like that at any point, or if you feel like no one wants you, I want you to fly to me. I don’t care what time of day it is, I don’t care what kind of reaction I have, I will do whatever I can to help. And if I find out you’re doing this again, I will sit on you until Mumbo and Scar and Iskall can come and get you. Understand?”

          “And if I ever get my hands on the guy who did this,” Tango began, and Grian and the others looked to him. There was a fierce tone to his eyes, a murderous red to them none of them had ever seen. Leaning closer, he growled in a dark tone, “I will rip him apart and scatter his pieces to the four corners of each of the realms.”

          “Take a number,” Grian laughed, then looked back at the ocean. His fingers went to a small red-and-blue pendant around his neck on a black cord, rubbing his thumb over the surface and taking a breath. “But either way, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him. He’s gone…has been for a while. Besides, he’s banned from Hermitcraft already—happens when you’re responsible for destroying a world.”

          “He what.”

          Shrugging, Grian stared out across the waters. All of a sudden, he seemed much older than he was, older than even TFC. A sadness washed around him, and he blinked a few times before looking back at the pendant and smiling softly. “It’s been a while. Trust me, I enjoy it here a lot more than there.”

          Zedaph rolled over onto his stomach, propped himself up on one arm, and clapped Grian on the shoulder with his other hand. Smiling, purple eyes bright, he said, “We’re glad to have you here!” A wicked look crossed his face, and he suddenly yelled, “Tackle!”

          Grian yelped as he was dogpiled by the ZIT team.

Notes:

This is a bit of a catharsis. Anyways, I have a lot of work to do, but feel free to check out “The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown” if you want! It’s basically if the hermits were a bunch of D&D folks who got thrown together (but don’t necessarily want to be) and then have to find this thing called the Cursed Crown before it’s too late. (Yes, that’s a shameless plugin of my own fic. It’s actually one I’m decently proud of).
Thank you for reading, I hope you have a great day. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, hope you enjoyed the fic, and I hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 22: 21-Hands (Shaking/Bloody)

Summary:

They found Zedaph curled up in a hole in the bottom of a desert temple, bloodied and shaking.

Notes:

This may have originally been different but it doesn’t matter now because I have a better idea. Anyways, for those of you who haven’t read the chapter “Whipped”, you might want to go back and read that one because this is a continuation.
Also, don’t know who wants to know this but I have alarms set up so I know when to sign into my Zoom meetings and the sound is an old bike horn. So when I was binging through X’s series and the music started playing and I heard the bike horn, I didn’t actually think anything of it. Like…at all. It was hilarious.
Also, I’ve probably messed up Asgardian’s pronouns no less than thirty times so let’s say that they go by they/them/he/him.
Anyways, on with the angst!

          Xisuma shot over the desert, eyes narrowed behind his visor as he looked around for any sign of their missing hermit. Up ahead, Cub banked around to the left and then shot off towards the jungle, sweeping that area like they’d planned. On Xisuma’s other side, Keralis banked to the right to head for where Impulse’s desert base had once been.

          Impulse. He was alright, thankfully (and finally off that End-forsaken ventilator). Asgardian had caused a lot of damage in a week. The others that the temporary admin had hurt before they were banned—Tango, Iskall, Scar, Grian, and Wels were all better now. Not that the bar for that was very high.

          “It’s not your fault.” False had said that to him when he got back. Now, as Xisuma soared over the blank sands of the desert once again, he kept that in mind. Everyone had been telling him that recently, and he needed to make it up to them somehow. Keeping it in mind that it wasn’t his fault was a start, and he had decided early on that he wasn’t going to blame himself. Sure, he might feel bad, but whether he liked it or not, he was the Hermitcraft admin. Asgardian was to blame for sure, not him.

          Setting off another rocket, Xisuma looked around and then banked towards a desert temple that rose halfway out of a sand dune. Kicking his legs forward, he landed with a small thud but no injury. Drawing his sword, he kept it in a firm grip as he strode into the temple. Alright. Let’s find Zedaph, make sure he’s okay, and check in on everyone as we bring him back.

          The entrance loomed above him, and Xisuma took a breath before walking under the sandstone arch, blade in one hand and a torch in the other.

+++

          Zedaph heard footsteps above him and shrank back a little bit, pressing against a wall.

          His head ached with every sound. He hadn’t had water in…he wasn’t even sure how long. Days? Weeks? No, it can’t have been weeks, the sun hasn’t risen enough and you would’ve died by then if you didn’t have water by then. Taking a slow breath, he reached with a shaking hand for the iron sword beside him. He’d managed to scavenge some iron bars and a few sticks when he dragged himself up once, but then he’d been knocked back down by a zombie. One of his ankles was twisted awkwardly, and it throbbed every so often but it was too dark for him to make out more than the fact it was definitely not the right colour.

          Above him, boots clanged on the stone floor of the temple. It’s Asgardian. They’ve found me. His mind said, and he felt his chest fluttering ever so slightly as he stared up at the bottom of the floor. Sand and small pebbles skittered over the edge and some bounced off of his nose. A whimper left his throat. No, no, don’t make any sound. They’ll find you they’re going to find you they’re going to find you and hurt you—

          “Zed?” The tone was soft, and he stared up and saw the familiar visor of Xisuma. Shoulders shaking, he let out a sob and then dropped the sword. “Oh, Ender. Hold on, let me—I’ll be down there in a second, I just have to—” The admin must have sent off a message and then immediately started pushing a ladder down the gap in the ceiling. “Oh, Ender, you have—it’s so great to see you—” More light flooded the space as Xisuma whipped out his pick and then mined away the roof. “Hey, no!” An arrow shot over the gap and Xisuma cursed. “Chill out!”

          “Xisuma!” The familiar voice of Cub announced, and Zedaph’s heart jumped a little more.

          “He’s down there! Cub, help me with these mobs! Keralis, get him out of there!”

          “On it, Shishwammy!” Keralis replied, and Zedaph pressed himself against the wall as the sky blacked out again. Landing down beside him, Keralis looked him over and then placed a torch down. The light stung Zedaph’s eyes and he closed them, looking away. Gentle hands touched his cheek. “Hey, Zed, I need you to open your eyes for me. Okay?” Nodding, Zedaph opened his eyes and Keralis gently tilted his head from one side to the other. “Okay, you don’t have a concussion. Can you drink this for me? Slow sips, I don’t want you throwing it all up.” Nodding, Zedaph slowly drank some of the potion and Keralis rubbed his shoulder before splinting his ankle. “Oh, that’s not very nice. You’re alright, it’s just a simple break.”

          “O-okay.” Above them, mobs screeched as they were diminished into poofs of dust and experience orbs, and Xisuma and Cub appeared up top.

          “Alright, Keralis,” Xisuma began, glancing around, “we’re going to mine down to you and Zedaph and then we’re going to get a stretcher set up so we can get Zed out. That alright, Zed?”

          Shakily, he nodded, and Keralis gently prodded his ankle a little bit. Whimpering, he tried jerking away. “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Zedaph nodded and then took a breath. Something suddenly felt a little…off, and he settled back against the wall.

          “Whoa, whoa, Zed!” Someone shook his shoulder. Snapping his eyes open (he didn’t remember even closing them), he saw Keralis and the others staring at him in concern. Xisuma and Cub were done there, too, and he blinked a few times before realising that his vision was blurring at the edges.

          “Did I…pass out?”

          “Yeah, buddy. It’s okay, we’ll get you back home.” Keralis reassured, touching his shoulder, and Zedaph nodded.

          He must have passed out again—he didn’t remember a ton of what happened next.

+++

          Zedaph was in awful condition.

          That was a bit of an understatement, frankly. Just like Impulse and Tango, he was bloodied and badly injured. Even as they’d flown, Xisuma found himself fretting that the young man might end up dying on the way. He was just so pale.

          He’s okay, Xisuma. He reassured himself quietly as Stress and Doc rushed Zedaph off. Everything’s okay, Asgardian is gone.

          There was a familiar series of clicks behind him, and he turned to see Tango making his way over on crutches. Smiling tiredly, Tango paused and then spoke, “You found him?” When Xisuma nodded, he made his way over and reached up to touch him on the shoulder, “You did good, X. It’s not your fault that this happened.”

          Nodding, Xisuma looked after where Zedaph had been taken. “I know.” Looking down, he traced the lines of the floor tiles with his eyes. “It’s Asgardian’s fault, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mess up by bringing them here.”

          Taking a breath, Tango shrugged, “mistakes happen. Sometimes it’s blowing up yourself in the middle of a Boomers job, sometimes it’s bringing in the wrong person while trying not to stress out your friends so they can have a break. What matters is that you learn from them.”

          Looking over, Xisuma asked, “Have you been hanging out with Joe?”

          Laughing, Tango let go of him and then started making his way back down the hall. “No comment.”

          “No, Tango—Tango, come back here!” Chasing after him, Xisuma frowned. “How are you faster than I am? You’re on crutches!”

          “A Boomer never reveals his secrets!”

Notes:

I’m sorry I know that this is Whumptober but Tango has Big of Mischief, Dumb of Ass energy a lot of the time so this ending just fit.
Anyways, “The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown” has several whumpy scenes to make up for this (and that one should update about once every week or so (if it gets too much, because the story is already 10,100 words and almost 7,000 of those are just chapter one, then it might change to once every two weeks or eventually once every month, depending on how stressful it is and how much I want to get each one out).

Chapter 23: 22-Creeper

Summary:

Doc is the only one who’s immune.
Too bad he doesn’t know it.

Notes:

(Aw, man). Sorry I had to do it somewhere.
Anyways, TWs for blood, violence, gore, creepers, canon-typical violence, major character injury, near death experiences, etc. Let me know if I missed anything and I’ll add it here.

 

           Xisuma stared up at the deep blue sky above him, shallow breaths rasping in his throat and barely fogging up the cracked visor above him.

 

           Sucking in a weak breath, he tried to move, tried to get his arms under him so he could get up. Moving hurt, pulling at something in his chest. His ribs hurt. Like…painfully. Closing his eyes, X dragged himself as far upright as he could, ignoring the crackling of his armour and the warnings that sprouted all across his visor and then flickered out in a moment. A low gasp left him again. His wrist slipped in what he prayed was just mud, even though it hadn’t rained in weeks and they were nowhere near a river. Instead of managing to get up, he slammed down onto his side and sucked in another breath. It hurt.

 

           Everything hurt.

 

           “X!”

 

           Pebbles knocked against the cracked shards of his back armour plates, and he tried to lift his head. Everything was just…hard. It ached. “Ke-Keralis.” Turning his head just a little, he could see Keralis hauling himself over with a panicked look on his face. Everything was fuzzy and blackening at the edges.

 

           “Oh, Ender, Xisuma.” Trying to move, Xisuma coughed. Something hot and sticky spilled over his lips. “No, no, stop. Stop, stop, you’re—you need to stop moving. You’re hurting bad.”

 

           “Ker—” His breath hitched in his throat and Xisuma choked on his next breath. “Keralis.” His gaze wandered to Keralis’ legs. There was a bloody smear after him. His legs looked…wrong, somehow.

 

           “No, no. Save your strength. Save your strength. You need to rest.” Keralis urged, reaching up and touching his helmet. Red smeared behind his fingers when he took his hand away. Raising his head, he glanced around. “We just need to wait. Someone will come help.”

 

           Wheezing, Xisuma closed his eyes, felt everything fading in and out.

 

+++

 

           Doc stumbled to his feet and glanced around.

 

           Smoke filled the air. Swallowing, he searched for the others. What happened? There were creepers, a few were still wandering around. Whipping out his trident, he threw it. One of the creepers fell to the dirt, and he held out his hand. His fingers were shaking. Shaft shivering, the trident yanked itself from the creeper’s body and then flew back to him. Doc caught it, twisted his arm back with the velocity so as not to break it.

 

           “Hermits! Are you alright?” He called, turning in a slow circle. Already, he was searching for the others’ bodies and their clothes. Flashes of bright color against the ashy gray and brown dirt. Hurrying towards the holes, he looked around and gasped. The trident clattered against the ground. “No. No, no.” Skidding down the slope, he dropped down next to Cub’s side. He was curled around Zedaph. Next to them in the crater were Impulse and Tango. Tango was slumped over some of the rocks, blood dripping down his face from the corner of his mouth. Smoke and blood coated the front of his chest, his clothes were ripped and damaged from the explosion. Meanwhile, Impulse had been slammed into a crag of sorts. Mouth cracked open, eyes wide, he rasped in a shaky breath.

 

           Dropping down by Cub and Zedaph, Doc frantically felt for their pulses. Cub let out a soft groan. His eyes fluttered open, flicked to Doc. A low sound left his mouth, nothing word-shaped but probably Doc’s name.

          

           “Hey.” Turning back to Zedaph, Doc felt the blond’s neck. Come on, come on. Please have a pulse, please have something. Holding his breath, he waited. For a long while, he didn’t seem to have any sort of pulse. Then, though, there was a flutter of one. Breathing in relief, Doc looked to Cub. “He’s alive. Stay still.” Sitting back, he pulled up his communicator’s vitals check. Then, he scanned Cub. Looked over the different signals. “Okay. No broken bones, no internal bleeding. It looks like you just have some hefty bruises and your ribs are dislocated. Jaw, too. That’s probably not fun.”

 

           Nodding, Cub rasped in a breath. Then, he started to move. “Zed…” Looking down, he glanced at the blond. Then, his eyes wandered to the others. “Imp..Tango…”

 

           “Gimme a sec. We’ll work on it.” Quickly, Doc checked on Tango and Impulse. Both of them were wrecked internally, would survive but probably not without a lot of effort. Zedaph, meanwhile, was…not well. None of them were.

 

           This was going to be a lot of work.

 

+++

 

           “Okay, okay, let’s get some pressure on this.”

 

           Hands pressed to Wels’ stomach. Biting back a hiss of pain, he tried to raise his hands and do the same. Broken, crooked fingers met his vision. Hypno, Joe, and xB were sitting around him, trying to help where they could. They had all managed to drag themselves away from the creeper apocalypse. In the corner of the cave, Ren was kneeling over Cleo with Jevin, trying to get her to come back to consciousness where they could ease a potion into her. She wasn’t responding. No one knew where half of anyone was.

 

           Closing his eyes, Wels let Joe’s hands clasp over his and press to the injuries tearing open his chest. This was fine. They just needed to wait for someone to find them. They just needed to wait.

 

           (He didn’t want to think about what would happen if no one came.)

 

+++

 

           Bdubs had been thrown into the ocean after the first explosion.

 

           Flailing, he clawed at the surface of the water. Kicked and turned. Eyes widening, he looked around. Sucked in a breath. Water slapped him in the face. For a second, he was plunged under the waves and he spat out a breath. There was a flash of white.

 

           Swimming over, carving through the water as best as he could, Bdubs got there right in time for the person to drop beneath the water. “Come on, come on.” Looking around, he took a breath. Dove down. His fingers found fabric. Immediately, he yanked them up, kicked as hard as he could.

 

           The body flopped limply against him. Shifting them around to his back, he clutched their arms in front of his neck. Then, he searched for the shore. There was a flash of golden-brown in the distance. Okay, okay. Time to channel my inner Scar. With that, he frantically swam towards the shore. Splashed around. They weren’t moving on his back. Warmer water dripped down over his neck. Whoever this was—probably Etho, he had a bad feeling just from the flash of white that it was the man.

 

           When he got to the shore, he threw the Hermit on his back onto the sand. Etho’s head flopped to the side, water dripping from his mouth. “Etho.” Slapping his face, Bdubs grimaced and sucked in a breath. “Etho, come on. Open your eyes. Wake up.” He started rubbing the man’s chest, tried to wake him up. Come on. Please don’t have drowned I don’t know CPR.

 

           Etho retched loudly and twisted to the side. “Bdubs!” Someone yelled. Straightening up, Bdubs turned. There, in the waves, was Beef. Mumbo, TFC, and Grian were all piled on top of him. “Iskall’s back there! I couldn’t grab him!” He yelled.

 

           Nodding, Bdubs pulled Etho a bit further up the shore. Then, he sprinted at the water and then dove inside. Within a few seconds, he had found Iskall, dangling in the water. Diving down, he wrapped his arms around Iskall’s middle and forced his way to the surface. Exhaled and kicked harder.

 

           They surfaced, and Bdubs tightened his grip on Iskall. There was a low groan, Iskall’s head tipped to the side. An eye focused on him, the cybernetic one completely gone. “Bdubs?” Iskall mumbled, looking around.

 

           “Hey. Just let me swim, we’re almost to shore.” Iskall nodded once, sluggishly. They finally got to shore and Bdubs hauled him further up. Flopping against the sand, he let out a breath. Bdubs slumped to the side. Looked over to see Beef crouching over Etho, touching his face. Apparently, Etho was breathing, chest rising and falling unsteadily. But he was breathing. That was what mattered. Etho was breathing, Iskall was breathing.

 

           Flopping onto the sand beside Iskall, Bdubs let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

 

+++

 

           Doc spurred his horse on, looking around. Come on, Doc. You need to go faster. You need to hurry, he leaned closer to the horse’s neck, ignored the cream strands of mane whipping him in the face.

 

           In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of pink. Grabbing the gelding’s reins, he yanked the horse to a stop. There was a snort of annoyance. “Sorry,” he whispered. Cantering to the flash, he leapt from his horse and skidded to a stop next to Stress. She was lying in the dirt against a tree.

 

           Before he could even reach her, she faded from sight.

 

           His communicator buzzed.

 

+++

 

StressMonster was blown up by a creeper

 

GoodTimeWithScar was blown up by a creeper

 

Notes:

(:

Chapter 24: 23-In the Heights

Summary:

Falling for so long can have an effect on someone. Bdubs thinks he’s fine until…he’s not.

Notes:

TWs listed in tags (as in there’s no new ones). Uh…anyways, I was watching Bdubs’ live videos and now I’m kind of sad because of personal stuff. Anyways, let’s jump into this one!

          Swallowing, Bdubs stared over the edge of the cliff.

          In his chest, his heart kept leaping to his throat, protesting how high they were. “Uh…guys, I’m not a huge fan of this.” He admitted suddenly, glancing ahead at the other Boomers and their client, Scar. They’d found a mountain a little ways away from everyone else, and the current mayor had asked for their help in blowing up part of the path so they could get through. The cliff face wasn’t sheer, so it shouldn’t fall in on them…he hoped.

          Glancing at the cliff face beside them, Bdubs tried to keep his eyes off of the giant fall around them. “You alright?” Tango asked, pausing to look back at him. Carefully, he took up the side between Bdubs and the fall, holding carefully onto his arm. Jolting and looking over, Bdubs met his eyes and Tango grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my wings and I’m strong.” He flexed as if to prove it, and Bdubs smiled weakly at him.

          “Thanks, Tango.”

          “No problem.” Tango’s fingers stayed on Bdubs’ upper arm as they strode up the wall. Impulse kept juggling his shovels every so often, grinning wickedly at them both every so often as they walked. “So, Impulse, what’s this I hear about you being part of the Resistance?”

          “Resistance? What Resistance?” Impulse echoed, looking back at them innocently. Tango smiled knowingly, eyes narrowed just a tiny bit, and Impulse tilted his head to the side.

          Bdubs glanced between the two and then glanced over the side. You’re fine, you’re fine. You’re perfectly fine. Just calm down and it’s alright. “Hey, hey, come on.” Tango’s hand tightened and after a moment Bdubs realised Impulse was on his other side. They had stopped walking and both his business partners were holding onto him gently. “Scar, is there a clearing up ahead?”

          Throat tight, Bdubs tried to swallow and found that he couldn’t. Underneath his feet, the earth started shaking and he jumped with a scream. Everything started to do…something, he wasn’t sure. The lights were too bright and he swore the earth was shaking beneath him. Taking a step forwards, he dropped to the ground gasping.

          “Bdubs, Bdubs, you need to walk.” Tango’s voice was in his ear. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t move. Sucking in breaths as tears welled up in his eyes, he tried forcing the words out but he couldn’t. “Bdubs, come on. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you. It was just an earthquake, but we need to get off of the slope.”

          “I can’t—I can’t—” Hands shaking, Bdubs tried to prop himself up. He was going to puke. “I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t—”

          “That’s okay, that’s okay, we can touch you?” Bdubs nodded jerkily and Tango looked up, still holding onto him. “Scar, sorry to say this but the mountain’s not safe right now. We’ll have to do this later—”

          “So—sorry—”

          “Not your fault. Impulse, help me get him up, we need to get him down the mountain and then through the Nether.” Bdubs tried to stand up, but his knees gave out beneath him. Tango held onto his arm and looked to Impulse, and they started carefully making their way down the mountain while supporting him. Once he actually had his feet under him, Bdubs could walk a little better but still stumbled around, legs shaking. “That’s alright, that’s alright.”

          “Scar—”

          “He flew off. Sent him ahead to Impulse’s base.” Shakily, Bdubs nodded. Everything was shaking and too sharp and he couldn’t breathe again. Come on calm down calm down you’re fine you’re—

          I’m not fine I’m going to die—

          You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine.

          “Okay, Bdubs, we’re almost there. We’re almost there. Almost there.” Another sob wracked his shoulders and Bdubs tried to suck in a breath.

          They must have hit a rock or something on the way down, because Bdubs felt his ankle roll to the side and he nearly fell. Crying out, he grabbed onto Impulse, who stumbled, too, and Tango yelped as he had to pull both of them back up. The ground shook again, a little stronger than before, and Tango grimaced. “That’s either a volcano…or that first one was a foreshock.” Impulse murmured, and Tango nodded. “We need to get out of here.”

          Turning to Bdubs, Tango asked, “Think you can fly?”

          Shaking, Bdubs nodded, and they took off in a burst of rockets. As the ground whipped away, Bdubs steadied out with his elytra and then glanced down at the mountain below them. His heart stuttered in his throat, and Tango banked around to touch his arm gently. For a moment, the elytra beat in tandem, Tango’s downbeating as Bdubs’ did the opposite. “I’m good, I’m good. I can—I can fl-fly.” You’re stuttering. Glancing down at the earth far below, he shuddered and then arced around after Impulse. Tango was on his heels, flying close enough to swoop down and catch him but just far enough away that they weren’t going to crash in midair.

          You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine.

          When they got to Impulse’s base and flew through the Nether portal, Bdubs collapsed onto the ground with another gasp. Stop overreacting you’re fine! He shouted, on his hands and knees. Tango flew over him and then whipped around, throwing his wings out to slow down as he kicked his legs forward to land carefully. He rushed over, touched Bdubs’ shoulders.

          “I’m here! What do you need me to do?” Scar ran up, and Tango handed Bdubs off to him before heading over to Impulse, who seemed a little frazzled. Wrapping an arm over Bdubs’ shoulders, Scar asked, “Hey, you’re okay. Come on, let’s go find somewhere to sit down.”

          Nodding, Bdubs glanced back at Impulse and Tango, who were both talking quietly.

Notes:

I’ve just realised that when I have no idea what else to do with the prompt or if I’m working with a fear-related prompt, I give the character a panic or anxiety attack. Huh.
Uh, TW for technical gun violence so skip this next paragraph if that triggers you: the attack Bdubs has here is based off one I had when I was a freshman and we had a simulation where people shot blanks into the air and yelled at us. Long story, kind of traumatic so I won’t go into it more than that (please do not ask). It was legal, we signed stuff beforehand. Anyways, that’s why this one’s shorter.
Just a warning for the next chapter, it’s rather violent and there will be a return of Asgardian. Additionally, it may not be published around the same time as the rest of the fic (excluding Chapter 29, which is connected). Thank you!
Anyways, thanks for reading! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope you have a lovely day! Hope to see you in the next chapter!

Chapter 25: Some Minor Technical Difficultis

Summary:

Sorry about the misspellings

So,ehow managed to delete everything

 

Teah

 

Everything.

 

 

I had all this stuff for tomorrow planned and I was super exicted, I was gonna give you guys a preiew and everything of chapter 25 because it was gonna be a long one and i wanted you guys to have something, and instead everyhting got deleted somehow and now i have to gind a way to fix it.

 

So, definitely not gonna be finished by he end of october. sorry, i'll see if i can update this as soon as possibe, ya'll have been great and i love you

Chapter 26: 24-Hospital

Summary:

After the events of the last chapter, the Hermits are sort of in a forced hospitalization. Two new people come in to try and help.

Notes:

Might as well have Gem and Pearl show up in this, am I right or am I right?
Also in between this everyone either was found or died.

 

           TFC was missing.

 

           It was also not the first time.

 

           As soon as Doc peered into the room where TFC, Keralis, Xisuma, and Bdubs were being kept and saw him missing, he groaned. “PEARL! I need some help!” Pearl hurried over, poking her head into the room. Her eyes landed on the empty bed. “Watch them for me, please. I need to go find TFC. Gem!”

 

           “What?” Gem demanded.

 

           “TFC is missing! I’m going to go and get him. Make sure no one does anything stupid!”

 

           “Got it!” She disappeared into one of the other rooms. Marching into the hallway, Doc glanced around.

 

           As he walked around, muttering in annoyance to himself, he looked around for any sign of the server’s unofficial grandpa. He cracked his knuckles. Looked around for a flash of grayed hair or a teal shirt. Come on, TFC. Please be alright. Please be okay. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he walked into the kitchen,

 

           TFC was standing there. At the kitchen counter. Making a bunch of different sandwiches. Sighing, Doc leaned against the doorway and pinched the bridge of his nose. “TFC.” TFC looked back to him and blinked a couple of times. “Why are you here? You should be resting.”

 

           Shrugging, TFC said, “I’m not that badly hurt.”

 

           “TFC. You’re older. Your immune system isn’t the best. If you get hurt it takes you longer to heal and you don’t have the same strength as some of the others.” Blinking, TFC looked at him. He was just staring. Like he didn’t actually get what was wrong with the whole situation. “TFC. Come on. You’re going back to bed.” Gently, he linked his arm with TFC’s and pulled him away from the counter. He made a sound like he didn’t want to leave.

 

           Still, Doc managed to get him to the bed and into said bed. Arms crossed, TFC looked at him and then settled back into the pillows. “Doc. I’ll be fine.”

 

           “Hey, TFC! Do you want a cookie?” Pearl asked, walking over. “They’re sea salt caramel chocolate chip.” TFC took the cookie. “Also, Doc.” He looked over at her. Nodding at the other empty bed, Pearl added, “Cub went to the bathroom and he didn’t get back. I don’t think that he’s alright.”

 

           “I’ll go check.” He sighed. Pushing himself up, he hurried over to the hallway where the bathroom was. When he reached the hallway,, he immediately saw Cub lying on the floor. “Oh, Cub. ”

 

           Raising his head, Cub turned and smiled at him. “Hi. Had a hard time breathing, fell over.” Doc sighed, strode over and picked him up. “My knight in shining armor.”

 

           “Shut up.”

 

Notes:

Bruh I got one more chapter to write for this and then the whole work is finally finished this is going to be so nice. (Edit: all of these weird shorter chapters were written yesterday IDK what’s going on either and I’m sorry I can’t fix it pfft)

Chapter 27: 25-Dysphoria/Dysmorphia

Summary:

Dysphoria and dysmorphia sucks. Just saying.
“Guys, I think I broke something.”

Notes:

I’M NOT THAT EASY TO TAKE OUT THE THING THAT ERASED MY DOCUMENTS CAN SUCK IT—
Anyways: TWs are in tags. Nonbinary Tango because I’m nonbinary and I say so. Trans Grian because I say so. Let’s do this.

Once again this one is unfortunately empty but here are some tips for the time being:
1) If something happens that is scary or embarrassing and it is out of your control, it is not your fault and it is not worth wasting your time worrying about. Do what you can and then that is enough.
2) Make sure to bind safely and don’t do 34 hours in a 48 timespan with no breaks while working out. Your ribs will hate you, trust me (yes, I did bind for 34/48 hours. It’s one of my biggest derp moments)
3) If you’re a trans lady, you don’t owe anyone femininity. Trans guys, you owe no one masculinity. Nonbinary peeps, you owe no one androgyny. Gender is a scam made by bathroom companies to sell more bathrooms, screw gender roles but respect gender identity, and don’t be a trash heap!

Chapter 28: 26-It’s a Mental Breakdown

Summary:

Xisuma loses it when things just aren’t going the best way.

Notes:

Literally me yesterday when I found out that I had accidentally deleted like…all of this. On the bright side, I had my chapter index to it’s not like I lost my prompts or anything, mostly I just lost some of the summaries and then a couple paragraphs.
Additionally, this is also inspired by the fact I accidentally screwed a whole bunch of people over earlier. (Today has honestly been pretty sucky, I’m not going to lie.) Basically, I have never scheduled a tumblr post before and probably should not be trusted with it. So it came on about three hours earlier than it should have. So I’m taking a voluntary exile for about a week from everything HHLR-related as a bit of a punishment. The others can do whatever they want, but the lesson I’m learning from this is that I’m just going to nap all Saturday next year and then stay up until the right time to post it myself. I can’t change the past and I can’t do anything about it now, so my next best option is to do what I’ve planned out, make plans for the future, use it as a learning experience, and stop beating myself up over it because it’s not doing anything other than make me feel awful. So, yeah, I looked at that and as I was going over Hermitober I realised I had this fic perfectly open for Xisuma, and this seems like exactly the kind of thing he might do on accident.
(Also trans Xisuma because why not)
Now, let’s jump into this.

          Idiot, idiot, you idiot how could you do that?

          Running his hands up into his hair, Xisuma tried to keep his breathing even and slow. Meanwhile, his communicator was going off as people were talking about the glitch that he’d caused. He’d caused it. There were a few complaints about stuff that some of them had been working on for quite some time being destroyed—complicated redstone and important builds, and the like.

          Fighting back a panic attack—he was not going to have a panic attack, this was his fault and he was such an idiot, he should have checked everything and he didn’t. He was an idiot. Come on, Xisuma.

          Sharp stabs of hunger jolted through his stomach and he gasped in pain, shaking his head. No. You’re not doing this. You’re not doing this to everyone. Don’t even think about it.

          Forcing himself over to his workstation, Xisuma booted up his screens and looked around with narrowed eyes. Come on, come on, you need to fix this. Looking for the spot with the update, he hissed in a breath and cursed himself. Idiot. You need to fix this somehow. It’s your job.

          Are you really meant to be an admin? The mocking voice that had always been in the back of his head mocked, and he shook his head a few times before forcing himself to focus on it again. A sudden sob wracked his shoulders and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears run down his cheeks. Stop crying. Stop crying! You have a job to do so do it!

          He ran a hand up into his hair, grabbing some strands and yanking on it. “Stupid, stupid, come on, you need to fix this.” His shoulders rattled again and he let out a quiet sob. No. You moron, you need to fix this. It’s your job, stop crying!

          Breathing hurt, and he could feel his binder around his ribs quite a bit more when he gasped. No, you’re not going to have a panic attack. Stop being a child. You are a professional, you’re the admin, it is your job to fix this so just do it and stop crying!

          He felt another painful stab and closed his eyes, then got back to work.

+++

Xisuma died of starvation

+++

          Glancing down at his communicator, Keralis felt a spike of sympathy burst through his chest.

          Turning away from fixing his own work, he threw on his elytra and shot off with a burst of rockets into the air. He shot down the road between his and Xisuma’s base, ignoring the beeping of his communicator. Sure, it might have been the other hermits, it could even have been Xisuma, but his focus had to be checking in on Xisuma and making sure he was okay. Please be alright.

          Kicking his legs forwards, he landed on the platform of Xisuma’s tower and then glanced around for the admin, eyes narrowing. “X!” Looking around, he called, “Shishwammy, where are you?”

          He found the poor guy lying haphazardly on his bed in his screen room. One of the screens was still floating above him, even though X was barely strong enough to do much more than flick a few fingers. A soft sniff left him.

          “Hey, Shishwammy.” Keralis went over and sat down by him, pulling his communicator away and tucking it in a pocket.

          “No…”

          “Shishwammy.” Reaching up, Keralis stroked his hair. Then, he pulled some fresh bread from his inventory and handed it over. “Come on, you gotta eat something easy.”

          “No, I have to—I need to fix the—the thing. It’s my fault.” Xisuma whispered, reaching for his communicator.

          “No. And I’m betting you haven’t taken your binder off, have you?” Xisuma looked away, and Keralis shot him a scolding look. “Shishwammy, you can’t do that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

          Xisuma mumbled something, and Keralis watched him as he ate. “Alright, I ate. Can I have the communicator back now? I need to fix—I have to fix the glitch.”

          “Tango and False are on it.” Keralis said, glancing down at the communicator. He’d seen the message a moment before X had died. So now he was working on making sure the admin didn’t absolutely destroy himself again by accident. “You did plenty already.”

          “It’s my fault. I did this.” X whispered, and Keralis pulled him into a delicate hug. Clinging to his arms, X cried a little more even as Keralis handed him more food. “It’s my fault.”

          “Shishwammy, did you cause the glitch?” Keralis asked. X’s head jerked up to look at him with wide eyes. “Did you cause the glitch?”

          “N-no.”

          “Did you do everything you could?”

          “No—”

          “Shishwammy, you died of starvation on Hermitcraft to help do what you could. Believe me—”

          “It’s not enough.” Xisuma whispered, and Keralis leaned forward just a little bit as Xisuma pulled his knees up to sit cross-legged on the bed. “Keralis. Please, just give me the communicator. I need to work on it. I—”

          “Stop it. You need food, you need to get out of the binder,” pulling him close, Keralis took a breath and then winced, “And you might need a shower, too.”

          “Thanks.”

          “You’re welcome. Come on.” Scooping Xisuma up, Keralis carried him towards the showers. Yelping, X scrabbled at him for a few moments, then seemed to resign himself to his fate. “Stop struggling or I’m putting on country music the whole time.”

          “No—”

          “Yes!”

          Xisuma sighed, and Keralis smiled as they left the communicator on X’s bed.

Notes:

Awkward ending but I don’t care.
If you have not checked out “The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown”, I really suggest you do before the next chapter comes out! It’s probably going to get two updates a week for a little while (probably Mondays and Fridays, even though I’m pretty sure no one reads on those days), especially once Hermitober wraps up. It’s got the same elements as Hermitober and a whole lot more story.
And now that the shameless plug is over, I wish I could take naps in a binder because I’m so tired but I don’t want to take my binder off. (Whatever).
There should be another full chapter coming out today. If it doesn’t just…I don’t know, scream at me in the comments. Anyways, I hope you all have a lovely day, and thank you for reading! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope to see you in the next chapter!

Chapter 29: 27-Dangling/Rope Burn

Summary:

He was in quite the predicament—dangling off of the stone ledge, hoping and praying that nothing went wrong.
When he heard horses, he thought the bandits were coming back. Thankfully, he was wrong.

Notes:

Slight AU of normal Hermitcraft because I felt like switching over to do a bit of “The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown” without actually having to do anything for the chapters because they’re long (Total is: 22526 words, 1 is 6899 words, 2 is 6974 words, and 3 is 8653, so the average is 7508 words among the three main chapters—so not counting the prologue or the other scenes I’ve sketched out already and there are a lot). So, slight spoilers for Hypno’s background, but I thought I might as well show you how he ended up the class he was.

          Hypno was in quite the predicament.

          Dangling by his wrist by a simple, frayed rope, he took a breath and then looked upright. Brown eyes darted over the sheer cliff around him. Even if there had been a few footrests, it wasn’t like he’d be able to get a grip on anything. It’d been years since the event in his bakery, since a monk from a temple had healed him. Then she’d left, and Hypno was trying to find her.

          It hadn’t been the same.

          Now he wondered if he should have just stayed home.

          But he couldn’t. The pitying looks, the sympathy as he tried futilely to speak again when customers just couldn’t understand that they needed to watch his hands, they couldn’t just listen for him anymore. The sheer pity people he’d grown up with had sent him when he saw Claire walking by in the street with her sister guiding her, cane clicking against the ground as she went. Claire was blind, always had been. And now he was mute, so they were practically the definition of some sick writer’s romance novel.

          Taking a deep breath, Hypno decided this really wasn’t the time to be thinking about her. He had to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a way out of this.

          Pulling up on the rope, he let out a silent cry as the vice-like twist it had on his wrist only increased. The gods were playing some sick joke on him. They must have been laughing in their pantheon as the monks sat in their temple high in the Allecos Peaks. He was a fool to have come, especially on his own. What, did he just think they would magically understand him as he signed at them? What if the monks hadn’t known how to sign? What would he have done then?

          Not like he was going to do much now, he was far more likely to starve to death hanging from the mountain. Or suffocate, more likely. Perhaps he’d be picked off by a stray gryphon—their flocks dwelled in the hills, did they not? Or perhaps a dragon, or one of the stupid winged chimeras that the Glaedirians had released to kill the Cy’Ratha only a few months before. And now here was Hypno, only twenty-one years old and already he was as good as dead. No one was even there to write his obituary. Wriggling around, he screamed silently in frustration as he tried to get a foothold on absolutely nothing.

          Stupid bandits. Who’s the god of mountains? Cursing internally as his injured hand—because of course the bandits couldn’t just tie his one wrist and then kick him off, no, they had to break his other arm and all the bones in his hand first so he couldn’t pull himself back up—brushed against the mountainside, Hypno glanced around and started silently cursing every mountain god he’d ever heard of. Like they’d do anything anyways. Most of them had been proven not to exist. They were just heroes, like Tharivol Faust Calish, the sorcerer of Amatra, and his companions the Storm Riders. Others were just notorious adventurers, like Wellby Tosscobble, the halfling pirate. They hardly had any more power than the bard who’d slammed the Glaedirian King, Samuel I, and then disappeared into the night. Hypno was no fool…

          As he dangled several miles above the barren, rocky earth below him, Hypno sighed and mused bitterly, Well, most of the time, I am no fool.

          A sob shook his shoulders as he dangled, only doing more harm to the wrist he dangled from. It was already going to be raw and bleeding, he knew that. Not that it mattered, he was going to be—

          Hoofbeats echoed on the mountain above him.

          Looking up in a panic, Hypno thought at first that it must have been the bandits. They’d decided it wasn’t enough to have left him dangling, they were going to come and finish the job. Panting, he sucked in a breath and looked around for some way to defend himself.

          “Well, there!” A familiar voice chimed. Looking up, he saw the broad grin painted on a familiar, terracotta-brown face. Dark, jet-black eyes stared down at him, and waves of earth-toned hair fell over one of the woman’s shoulders. She was dressed in fine, muted green robes, tied at the waist with a darker sash. “It seems someone’s gotten into a bit of trouble there. Why don’t we fix that?” She made a quick gesture, and the wind beneath Hypno swirled around him. He was lifted up and then gently deposited on the stone ground beside her. There was a bay horse and a chestnut beside her, and she gently crouched down and untwined the rope from her wrist.

          “What are we doing? He’s hardly—”

          “Silence, Summit.” She chided, and Hypno turned to see a broad-shouldered but athletic young man about his age standing there. He was blond, with tanned skin that showed discipline and months, if not years, of work beneath the sun. Turning back to Hypno, she cupped his face with one hand and asked, “You came to find me, did you not?” He croaked out a response, and she smiled softly. “Alright, you don’t have to talk. Sign. Do you remember my name, Hypno.”

          “Cinder.” Cinder grinned broadly, then carefully helped him to his feet.

          “Alright, Hypno. Let’s get you to the monastery, we’ll fix up those arms of yours.” Nodding, Hypno let her guide him away.

          Above them, a white dove flew away through the clouds, heading for its master to report its findings.

Notes:

I’ll just…leave that there. Anyways, thank you for reading as always! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope you have a lovely day! Hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 30: 28-Numbness

Summary:

Pfft the chapter index is useless now sorry loves

During the filming of The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown, someone forgets to eat. As a result, things go a bit wonky when they stand up.

Notes:

TWs for hypoglycemia, numbness, medical episodes, minor injury, nearly passing out, etc. If I missed something lemme know and I’ll list it here because of the silly new sub-75 tags.
Anyways, crossover I guess but I’m watching Tommyinnit’s roller coaster vlog and just…okay one I paused at the wrong time and just never pause YouTube videos I guess and two this is going to be interesting.
These new chapters are probably going to be fairly short and I apologize in advance I have like five days to do this?

 

           Okay, maybe not eating lunch was a bit of a mistake.

 

           Dropping his head forwards onto his knees, Mumbo let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. Everything felt weird. Actually, it literally felt like someone was currently stabbing him in the stomach. Not fun. Not fun at all. And currently, he was in the back prop room where no one really went.

          

           Sniffing, he rubbed at his face. Dropped his head back. The wall thunked behind him. Closing his eyes again, Mumbo let another breath out. Come on, Mumbo. Come on. You need to stand up. Slowly, slowly, he reached up and rested a hand on the closest cabinet. Then, carefully, he pushed himself up.

 

           Immediately, a sort of fuzzy feeling filled his legs and arms, centering in his hands and spreading up to his hips and down to his feet. Stumbling forwards, he pressed a hand against the doorway. Ignored the black spots dancing in his vision. Slowly, he stepped forwards, reached over and pinched the bridge of his nose. Okay, Mumbo. Okay. Come on, work on it. You’re fine. You’ve gone longer without eating. Maybe not the smartest idea, but you can handle it now.

 

           Pushing himself forwards, Mumbo stumbled down the stairs. Or really, he attempted to. The world tipped forwards. He felt his ankle twisting. Eyes widening, he threw his hands out.

 

           There was a harsh snap-snap as his wrists collided with the ground. White-hot pain shot up through his arms and he gasped. Dropped to the side. His ankle hurt, too. Holding his wrists closer, mouth open, he gasped. Ow. Not fun. He dropped his head against the ground. Closed his eyes again.

 

           Eventually, he heard footsteps walking over and crunching in the dirt. Opening his eyes, he raised his head and looked up. “Oh, hi Keralis.” He said. Walking up, the man looked at him in concern.

 

           “Hello, Mumbo. Are you…alright?” Keralis asked. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Mumbo looked at him and smiled. There was another spike of pain through his arms. Still, he tried to smile as best as he could. Keralis’ gaze wandered over his arms, though. Eyebrows knitting together, the man looked at him. Paused. Then, he spoke, “Your wrists are broken aren’t they?”

 

           Mouth falling open, Mumbo paused. Bit his lip. “Yeah, maybe.” He forced out. Heat flushed through his cheeks. Sighing, Keralis walked over. “And also maybe my ankle. But that might just be twisted.”

          

           Keralis crouched down in front of him. Helped him sit up. Then, casually, he pulled some sticks and strips of cloth from his bag. “Right wrist.” Mumbo paused, pictured the two hand signs in his head, and then offered the correct wrist. Gently, Keralis steadied it in his lap, braced it with the sticks and secured the splint with ease. He did the same with Mumbo’s other wrist, then his ankle. “I hope you know that you could have asked for help as soon as this happened, my beloved Jumbo. Accidents happen.”

 

           “How was filming?” Mumbo asked. Looking up, Keralis arched an eyebrow.

 

           “It was alright. Shashwammy noticed you were missing and so we paused. We had not seen you in, say, thirty minutes? Not a huge deal, of course. But still worrying. So we look.” Shrugging, Keralis scooped him up. For someone who played a druid, he certainly had a lot more muscle than Mumbo would have thought of simply looking at him. It was like Keralis was built for construction. No wonder he does so much of it around the server. He thought to himself. Cradling him closer, Keralis started striding forwards easily.

 

           “Oh. I’m sorry that you had to stop filming.” Mumbo said, dropping his head slightly. Keralis shifted him in his arms. Looked down at him curiously.

 

           “You couldn’t help being injured. Like I said, accidents happen. I’m just glad that you didn’t try to do anything stupid.” Snorting to himself, Keralis added, “Speaking of stupid, Falsie broke her nose today.”

 

           Head jerking up, Mumbo stared at Keralis, arms still wrapped securely around his neck. “She what?!”

 

           “Falsie broke her nose. Apparently it had something to do with the Glaedirian flight props. Some race or something. At any rate, I’m sure she’d love to tell you the story in the infirmary.” Mumbo grimaced at that. Looking down at him, almost like he was scolding a child trying to get someone else in trouble, Keralis said, “You’re going to go to the infirmary, Mumbo. Whether you like it or not. At any rate, Falsie is down for a couple of days to make sure she has not managed to give herself a concussion. Gem and Pearl should be watching over her in the meantime.”

 

           “Did anyone else get hurt?” Keralis looked at him. “Besides me, I mean. Like, did False crash on her own or did she slam into people?”

 

           “Oh, no. It was just her.” Shuffling Mumbo a little bit, Keralis tipped his head to the side. “Oh, also, you’re going to be fined.”

 

           “What? Fined? Why?”

 

           “We’ve had so many injuries we’re running out of potions faster than we can make them. Sure, we still have plenty left, so there’s no worry about that. But supply and demand are falling behind and sometimes Stress may not have the ability to go out and fetch more supplies. So we’re making a fund to buy more potion supplies when needed. Helps the intra-server relationships and economy, allows for some more trade, and also means that Stress is a bit…less stressed.” Keralis wrinkled his nose. Then, he continued, “So you’re putting some diamonds towards the fund. Or, if you can’t do diamonds, emeralds. Redstone. Gold, iron, copper coal, other supplies. Even a note would work, a voucher for supplies of some sort. But not an IOU. Never an IOU.”

 

           “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve heard that horror story plenty of times.” Shaking his head, Mumbo commented, “I still can’t believe that someone managed to get Scar to do creeper installation.”

 

           Laughing, Keralis carried him into the infirmary. Sure enough, sitting on the bed was none other than False. “Hey, Falsie! Brought you a friend!” Keralis announced, settling Mumbo on the bed. Grinning, he looked over at her. The blond was sitting on the bed while Stress and Cleo fussed over her a little bit. Across her nose was a massive butterfly bandage. And, of course, Mumbo couldn’t resist.

 

           “Hey, False, I think you have something on your face.”

 

           Yeah, he deserved having a pillow thrown at him. Even he would admit that.

 

Notes:

Hehehe you’ll find the story of False’s injury sometime soon, I promise.

Chapter 31: 29-Vines

Summary:

One of Scar’s plant projects goes rogue. It does not go well for the Boomers when they’re called in to try and take it out.

Notes:

I finished it whoo!
TWs for canon-typical violence and plant violence. Environmentalists and vegans may want to avoid (/j). Also choking/suffocation.

 

           “Someone needs to tell Scar to stop experimenting with living things!”

 

           Tango dodged around the massive vine whipping towards him, arcing his wings around to bank right. Laughing, he glanced over at Impulse. A grin was passed between them, thrown to the wind just like their caution was, and Zedaph darted over before chucking some TNT down into the beast’s mouth. It was a weird-looking thing. It was a weird situation.

 

           Doing a barrel roll, Tango swept in closer to the beast. There was a massive explosion and its head jerked back, mouth falling open. He darted in and threw some more TNT in. Teeth flew out. One of the shards clipped his shoulder.

 

           Gasping, Tango clapped a hand over the injury. Ow. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. Banked down and swooped. This time, he went right underneath the giant plant. Flipped so that he was flying with his back to the ground. Throwing a stick of dynamite up, he grinned when it struck and blew. Pieces of plant showered over him.

 

           “Ew, gross!” He cackled, wiping at his face. Spinning again, he turned.

 

           A vine slashed down in his vision.

 

           Gasping, Tango slammed out his wings. It wasn’t fast enough, though. The vine wrapped around his sides and Tango jerked to a stop. His chin slammed against thick green vine. Black stars danced in his vision. Mouth falling open, he shook his head. The vine tightened. In his ribs, there were several muffled thud-pops and he screamed. Impulse shot by him, sharply banking right as one of the massive vines slammed down where he’d been a moment before. “Hold on, Tango! We’ll be right there!”

 

           Wheezing, Tango opened his mouth, “Please do!” In the corner of his eye, he could see the vine rippling. Pain shot through his ribs as the vine tightened even more. He gasped and kicked as best as he could.

 

           “Sorry, Tango!” Scar bellowed.

 

           “Not your—“ Tango cried out again. He could feel his arms and spine starting to pop. Gasping, he wriggled a little bit. The vine shifted, and he was being lifted into the air. He glanced down. The plant was moving it towards his face. “Fault.” He forced out. More spots danced in his vision. Weakly, he kicked at it again. The vine tightened. What little air Tango had left was forced out in a huff. Everything went dark.

 

           All of a sudden, he was falling.

 

           Arms wrapped around him and he was jerked to a stop. “Hold on, Tango. Hold on. We got you.” Impulse said. Weakly, Tango tried to open his eyes and raise his head. But he couldn’t really do anything. Well, anything except for dangle limply from Impulse’s arms. A low groan left him. “Hold on, Tango. You’ll be alright.”

 

           Everything started to go dark again when they landed. Under him, Tango felt his legs crumple and he was gently settled on the ground. “Someone get a stretcher!” Scar yelled. Hands settled on Tango’s back, and he cracked an eye open to find Impulse leaning over him and Zedaph at his back.

 

           “Hey, hey, stay with us.” Zedaph whispered, voice fading into something soft and distant. Frowning, Tango blinked a couple times.

 

           Everything went dark again as he was rolled onto his side, people touching his spine and ribs.

 

Notes:

RIP Tango of the Tek variety

Chapter 32

Summary:

One of the hermits gets lost and the rest of the hermits go looking for them.

Notes:

TWs in notes. Tags. Whatever, leaving it in. Anyways, let’s jump right into this!

          A low wheeze left Scar’s throat and he looked up at the sky, closing his eyes as he took a few faster breath.

          Everything hurt. Sharp rocks and pebbles stabbed into his back and neck, and he sucked in a few more breaths. His communicator was laid beside him on the ground, perfectly working and only a few inches from his fingers, but he couldn’t reach it. Please. Someone help. Reaching over, he sucked in another painful breath and looked back up to the sky. The stars shifted overhead, the silver face of the moon climbing higher in the sky.

          There was a bloody slash on his chest, and he’d fallen painfully down a hole. Now, he was trapped. No way to move. No one knew where he was, because he’d been foolish and now he was going to die.

          Closing his eyes, he let his head fall to the side as consciousness dropped away from him.

+++

          Jellie galloped through the shopping district, looking around and meowing as loudly as possible.

          Skidding to a stop in the middle of one of the roads, she tilted her head back and yowled. And then yowled again. And again. She kept yowling until someone appeared. “Jellie?” Bdubs asked, scooping her up. Yowling, she clawed at his arms, and he yelped and dropped her back on the ground. She bit his fingers and he yanked them back. “Ow! Oh my—Jellie! What is wrong with you?”

          She yowled and then raced off to the mayor’s office. Bdubs ran after her, boots slapping against the stone as he did.

          “Jellie! Slow down! What’s wrong?” They skidded to a stop on the wood planks above them. Slipping to the side, he straightened up as she disappeared into Scar’s office. Jumping on the seat, she yowled and yowled and yowled.  Bdubs blinked a few times and then looked around. Wide-eyed, Bdubs looked around and found the mayor’s office was entirely empty. “Scar? Scar!”

          He looked down and picked up Scar’s staff where it had fallen. Looking up, he glanced around. Jellie meowed desperately, green eyes wide.

          Pulling out his communicator, Bdubs called Xisuma.

+++

          Hands picked up Scar, and he opened his eyes as Doc hissed around them.

          “Doc?” Cracking open his eyes, he let his head fall to the side and coughed weakly. A cold hand cradled the back of his neck and head and he sucked in another wheezing breath. “Cleo?”

          There was a zombie-like growl and he sucked in a breath, then closed his eyes again.

Notes:

Ending this here because I’m lazy. See you in the next one!

Chapter 33: 31-Full Circle

Summary:

The hermits comes full circle by having another sleepover. This time, however, no one gets hurt and they actually manage to relax.

Notes:

Oops this one’s late by about a day but I wrote it on the 31st! It just didn’t come out until today because Ao3 switches dates at 5pm for me instead of 12am the next day. Anyways, this is the fluff chapter!
(Although if you want real fluff I have a crackfic called “Hermits n’ Onesies” (like “Guns n’ Roses” but for some reason I switched them; also I can confirm that no onesies were harmed in the making of that fic!) Also, I know I said there was only going to be one extra chapter today but I got bored and decided to go all out. There will be an occasional update on the unfinished chapters, so remember to go back and check those out from time to time, but what might happen is I may simply skip over those chapters for the time being and add them on at a later date (and also leave previews for “THatQftCC” in their places).
Trans nonbinary Xisuma because why not. And some other surprise nonbinary characters. Also, short because I’m bored and confused.

          “X, you look amazing!” Stress began, then asked, “But why are you wearing something so fancy?”

          Xisuma looked down at their outfit. It was a white buttonup and black skinny jeans instead of their usual armour, and some black boots. Walking over, Stress ran a hand through their bangs and fluffed them out just a little bit. “Stress. Come on. Keralis worked really hard to do this. Don’t mess it up.”

          “Dude,” Tango began, walking up, “we’re relaxing, not going to a fancy bathroom.”

          “Bathroom?” Zedaph and Impulse both looked at them. Tango nodded. With a light chuckle, Impulse asked, “Are you sure you don’t mean restaurant or something?” Tango paused, frowned, and then looked down at the ground.

          “This month has been too long.”

          “I can’t even remember some days.” Zedaph mused, and Xisuma laughed lightly. “Come on, we got food! Good food! And I want to eat it, I forgot lunch!”

          “You what?” Zedaph yelped and started sprinting to the meeting area, and Tango and Impulse started chasing after him shouting about food and eating healthy. Meanwhile, Impulse shouted, “Come on, Zedaph! You know better than that!”

          “Leave me to my unhealthy ways!”

          Shaking their head, Xisuma gestured for Stress to walk in front of them.

+++

          When the other hermits arrived, they all piled on top of the beanbags in the main hall and did nothing but shoved their faces full of food.

          “Yeah! Snacks!” Bdubs yelled, flopping on top of Scar shamelessly. Scar shouted in shock and shoved at him gently, laughing the whole time. Meanwhile, Cub had taken to saving said snacks and Jellie. He was actually managing to hold one in each hand, and Jellie purred before bending down to gently lick his wrist. Settling them both down as Bdubs got comfortable between him and Scar, Cub mumbled an apology to the first cat.

          Jellie just meowed, and they settled down to watch a movie. Not one that could freak anyone out. After the last couple of movie-or-song induced panic attacks. Before the movie started, Xisuma stumbled to their feet and shouted, “Guys, gals, nobnina—ahhh!” Falling to the side, they looked up at the blankets tangled around their legs and feet and then sighed, tipping their head back. “Heeeelllppp!”

          Keralis and Iskall started untying them, both hermits sharing glances the whole time. Iskall rolled their eyes and glanced over at Tango and sighed once, mumbling something about “stupid nonbinary people”.

          “You are a stupid nonbinary people, Iskall.” Xisuma pointed out.

          “Exactly.”

          A few chuckles echoed around the room and Jevin shouted something along to the others. Not even a word. Just a shout. Wels and Jevin did a quick little fist bump sort of thing. “Stupid people unite!” False shouted, and everyone cheered again.

          “Kings, queens, and monarchs, please pay attention.” Xisuma cleared their throat, finally standing up without being tangled in blankets. “So, I understand that this month has been…stressful, to say the least.”

          “That’s an understatement of the server!” Ren yelled, and Impulse nodded sagely as he, Cleo, and Zedaph threaded flower after flower into Tango’s hair. Beside them, Stress was doing the same with TFC, who sat there with an expression on his face that warned all not to screw with him or his 23 nonbiological children. Doc and xB were petting some of Joe’s dogs as the young man scribbled down poetry while leaning against Beef with all the energy of a dramatic goth draped over the overhead luggage compartment of some public transport. Mumbo and Grian had thrown themselves on top of Iskall, who clearly didn’t mind, while Wels and Jevin “guarded” (read: hoarded) the chip bags and kept them away from False, Hypno, and Keralis. Keralis, of course, was also guarding Xisuma’s former spot to keep people from stealing it. Or Jellie, although no one would deny the first cat her current rightful place atop Scar’s head.

          “Thank you, Ren.” Xisuma grinned and then took another breath, gesturing to the TV set up behind them. “Anyways, we’re going to be watching The Magic Paintbrush because it’s super gay!”

          “Whoo! Super gay!” Iskall yelled, and everyone started laughing again. “Wait is it the good kind of gay or the wor—”

          “Good kind! I think.” Grian warned, and everyone laughed again. “Whoooooo!”

          Everyone cheered again, and the movie started, and that was when they all knew that they were going to be okay.

Notes:

I couldn’t think of an actual movie so I just gave the name of one of my books that’s coming out soon, so sorry. You can’t find it anywhere else because it is not currently published but it will be soon and will probably be how I make the money to move out and transition properly! Anyways, long note ahead so feel free to skip.
If I ever refer to y’all as dude, just a note that I grew up in California so it’s probably just a habit shining through and not be attempting to be rude. Same goes for stuff like love and a couple other things, but I mean it gender-neutrally. (And I usually go kings, queens, and monarchs anyways). Let me know if that bugs you and I will start working on it.
Medibang and I have a love-hate relationship, especially when it comes to passwords and logging in. So now it is dead to me and I’m just going to do my entire book cover in one sitting because screw it. And screw gender roles because I can’t figure out if I’m nonbinary, a trans guy, both, sometimes one or the other, or quite possibly just a very confused soul stuck in a strange little flesh robot. Think of that what you will.
Anyways, thanks y’all for sticking with this story even with everything else. If you’ve noticed the sudden chapter bump-up, it’s because I’m just going to add on all the missing chapters as new ones so y’all don’t have to trudge through looking for the new updates when you haven’t read them yet due to my weird want to keep the original formatting. So you’re getting this. Anyways, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and wonderful and I hope you have a great day!
Hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 34: 25-Dysmorphia/Dysphoria

Summary:

Part One of Two. New chapter because I didn't want to remove the advice I left as a placeholder and I'm kind of lazy.

So this is Tango's part of it, the other half will be Grian.

Notes:

TWs in tags. Nonbinary Tango, Trans Grian because I say so. [Trans Grian will be added in another chapter because these are the emotionally draining prompts] Uh…dysphoria sucks, gender is a scam by bathroom companies to sell more bathrooms, screw gender roles but respect gender identity, you owe no one femininity/masculinity/androgyny, don’t be rude to content creators when they’re trying to make content just because it’s not what you want (the people hating on Scar and the rest of HEP, *I am looking at you*), I am legally obligated to tell you not to be a trash heap or a discount store with regular pricing and no bathrooms, let’s do this!
(Also even when I’m fem and wearing pink and 5’3” on a good day I am still *not a woman*, call me she/her and I will open all the bananas and slice all the apples in your house)

Tango~

          Mirrors were everyone’s worst enemy, apparently.

          Or, really, reflections were. No one ever looked flattering in a reflection. Not unless they had the perfect genetics, the perfect angle. It was why funhouses sometimes had those walls of crazy mirrors that you could walk down. People could mess around with their reflections, and that’s all they were. Fractures of a person’s real self.

          And maybe Tango had something against relfections, and that was why there wasn’t a ton of them in Decked Out (not to mention the light needed would keep their mobs from being able to exist down there, but that was another story altogether). But that was their problem to deal with, their business, not anyone else’s. Nope. No one else had to deal with Tango’s reflection problem that they definitely did not have, no siree Impulse, they had no issues—

          Okay, maybe they had a bit of an issue with reflections.

          Ugh, why does this bathroom have to have such a big mirror? Is Impulse trying to plan a bathroom selfie with the whole server? Tango grumbled, sitting on the edge of the counter as they tried to figure out how the heck False, Cleo, and Stress could sit on the counter, let alone shave or do their makeup on it. Currently, they were in Impulse’s freakishly amazing pyramid base that rose out of the sea like some kind of sparkling castle built by Poseidon and Athena, waiting for the bathroom mirror to fog up so they didn’t actually have to look at themself as they moved to and from the shower and their clothes. The loose shirt they’d borrowed from Impulse hung around their shoulders, literally hanging off of one. Had they lost weight recently? Maybe it was with all the stress of the server quarantines. Everyone had to stay with their own servers, and Xisuma had mentioned having to stay away from everyone else for two weeks both before and after checking in on Ex and Hels and the others.

          Adjusting the top of their skinny jeans (because Tango hadn’t spent all that time in the closet not to learn how to dress; sure, they might look a bit like a trash bag but at least they were a fashionable trash bag), Tango took a deeper breath and then sighed, keeping their back to the mirror the whole time. It still wasn’t foggy. Maybe I could pass the time shaving? The impulsive side of them screamed, and they held up their hands almost like they were trying to convince Zedaph or Bdubs not to do something silly, not talking to themself in Impulse’s bathroom.

          Why would I shave? I don’t even have stubble, my face looks fine, and there’s no reason for me to even think about it.

          Because I’m bored and I have very little to do and I don’t want to sit here the whole time thinking. Sighing, they hopped off the counter and decided instead to dig through all the different objects different hermits had left at Impulse’s in the little cubby tower. Seriously, it was beginning to be a problem. They couldn’t jump servers, so instead they’d all taken to just…appearing at one another’s bases. Now, Tango had more of a reason to be at Impulse’s. They had both been doing a Boomer’s job with Bdubs, and now Tango was covered in mud and soot after some stupid mudslide they’d all barely managed to survive by the skin of their teeth. Unfortunately, their clothes had not escaped the same fate, and now Tango’s preferred outfit (the one that made them feel good about themself) was so caked in mud they had to wash it. They didn’t have access to their hoodies, they didn’t have access to anything that would have helped them.

          So I think this is False’s…? Holding the bottle of lotion (it was named…oh, it was definitely False’s, it was literally named “Queen of Hearts and Body Parts”), they tipped it from side to side and then set it back on the shelf. If she knew they had messed with it…well, she really wasn’t called the “Queen of PVP” for nothing, was she? Tango made the mistake of glancing up and looking in the mirror as they stopped looking through the cabinet after finding out Etho had what looked to be blood-red nail polish made of actual blood.

          Freezing, they stared at their own face for a few moment. Sure, there was some fog around the edges of the mirror, but not enough. Not enough. Look at you. You’re disgusting. No wonder no one ever takes you seriously as anything but a man, you look awful. Shifting the shirt around and their jeans, too, just for good measure (why they had a pair of skinny jeans at Impulse’s basement but not a shirt, they would never figure out), Tango glanced themself over in the mirror, ruffled their hair and frowned a few times. Come on, you can look better than that. You look like an idiot. You look horrible.

          Sitting back on their heels, Tango reasoned, I look fine. No one likes how they look in a mirror.

          Maybe not, but you’re disgusting. It was always easier to act like every single thought came from a different source instead of their own mind. At least then they could tell Impulse and Zedaph they didn’t need to worry, that they were fine.

          Running a hand through their muddy, greasy hair (showers were always hard and this was why), Tango sighed again and then closed their eyes. For a brief moment, they could feel hot tears burning in the corners of their eyes. No. You are not crying. Crying is weak, you’re stronger than this. You have to be, you’re Tango. So suck it up and deal with it this is a shower, not a war.

          The mirror finally fogged up enough, and Tango kept the shower as brief as possible.

          The next time they looked at themself, they had already changed into a new set of clothes that Impulse had also loaned them. There was an odd ache in their chest as they dried their hair, shaking water from the soaked curls plastered to their forehead, and then looked up at themself. You’re disgusting. Look at that. What’s wrong with you, couldn’t bother to be cis? You just needed to be a screwup, and now you—

          Just stop it.

          —you’re just running from your own problems. You looked better with the mud and dirt spattered on you, at least then you actually looked like the mess you are instead of whatever façade you’ve managed to throw together. Because that’s all you’re good for. Lying. To Xisuma, to Impulse, to Zedaph. Everyone else that you “love”. Because how can you—

          SHUT UP! Tears ran down Tango’s cheeks and they roughly shoved their palms into their cheeks to scrub the wetness away. Of course they were sobbing. So weak. I’m so fricking weak. Leaning over the counter and sink, shaking sobs wracking their shoulders and arms, Tango glanced at their appearance in the foggy mirror. Their reflection was distorted. Some kind of sick reflection of my inner turmoil. That’d be something Joe would say…wouldn’t it? Sniffing and rubbing at their nose, eyes reddened and a bit more pink than they were, like they always did when they cried, Tango laughed bitterly. There were so many things they would change. Their fingers were too stubby, their canines were a bit too pointy to be normal. The smattering of thin freckles across their nose that came from working in the sun for so long looked less like actual freckles, nothing like the pretty dots across Zedaph’s face. No, Tango had always likened them to dirt, literally thought they were dirt when they’d first seen them.

          Sniffing and rubbing at their eyes, Tango waited until they didn’t feel like crying anymore (hating themself was a completely different matter) to go and join Impulse, Zedaph, and Bdubs in the main room.

Notes:

I know this said Grian and I might add that as a separate chapter later but honestly my ability to write these only comes from when I’m emotionally taxed and they don’t do much more than wear me out. Anyways—
Lol here’s a mini rant (TWs for transphobia, homophobia, murder mentions, more TBA. Please skip if these trigger you) : I’m being forced to interact with people who don’t like gay people tomorrow (11/10/2020) in the freezing cold where I have no friends and people are going to bring up some drama that happened today or yesterday in regards to a Trump rally. If I could stay behind, I would. I asked, pointed out that one of my two close friends is on vacation and the other isn’t there half the time and her response was “well my friend isn’t there half the time either and I still go”. I get it, I should be sympathetic, but honestly she can take a week off of youth group if she wants and if I want that then I’d have to not only make myself puke multiple times I would have to act for the whole day *and* make sure they see it so they know I’m not faking it. And even then, might not work. They’ve made me go to high school after throwing up in the morning and then sometimes they still have the nerve to ask me if I’m anorexic or bulimic. Like, no, but I don’t…it doesn’t matter, anyways. I’m just…I’m super tired. I can’t wait for if Magic Paintbrush takes off, I’m going to be able to wear my binders without worrying about having them taken away, I can go by my own *name* and *pronouns*, I’ll be able to call myself a dude or nonbinary or ace without someone saying my identity doesn’t exist or making some crude comment about what’s in my pants or saying bi/pan people can’t be monogamous. Or, you know, that trans people are responsible for the whole “trans panic defence” thing because they don’t tell “cis-attracted” people they’re trans (yeah. Actual statement. It sucked, I had to sit there and put up with it or else cry in front of several people I do not want to see me cry).
Anyways, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope you have a lovely day. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you in the next one!

Chapter 35: Also Not A Chapter Pfft (Maybe)

Summary:

This is not a chapter update but it should be coming with several chapter updates. Hope you enjoy! :)

Notes:

bruh it’s been so long since I last updated this I meant to have it finished. Anyways, announcement time!

Just An Announcement!

 

Hey Guys! Wolf here, with a little announcement.

 

So, first off, we’re coming up on the next Whumptober. So, I’m actually bringing in some alternate prompts to sub in for ones that I will no longer be able to do. I’m likely going to go back and remove the old chapters and their substitutes and I’m probably going to try and put some of the chapters in the right place. We’ll see if I get around to it. 

 

For starters, the other two parts of Switchblade (Original Chapter 13) are not going to come out. The original chapters of 25 (“Torture”) and 29 (“Nails, Wood, and Blood”) are not going to be uploaded either. These prompts were just really gory in general and I don’t think I can mentally handle that because of a group of realizations that I had over the course of about January to now. These prompts are going to be replaced by alternate prompts from this year and years previous. These are meant to be fun for me, and to also test how well I can write on a time limit, and I just…don’t want to do those chapters anymore. So they will be replaced, probably with the chapters coming out with this one!

 

Additionally, simply because of length, Original Chapter 20 (“Prank Turned Pain”) is no longer going to be posted in this work. It will be eventually, but it’ll have to be as another work. Thank you for understanding! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the next couple of chapters! (No clue what’s up with the chapter index so uh…good luck.)

 

Thanks for reading! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one! 

Chapter 36: 19-Broken Nose

Summary:

Basically the same as the thing says but you won’t expect how it happens.

Notes:

TWs for broken bones, some mild blood, and the infirmary. If I missed one, let me know and I will update as soon as possible!
If you read the Mumbl hypoglycemia chapter I guess you do sort of know how this happens but also you totally won’t. Hahaha. Anyways, let me know what you think in the comments, and I hope you enjoy!

 

           “Oh my gosh, False…”

 

           “What happened?”

 

           “Someone go get a potion or something!”

 

           Lying on the ground, twitching her limbs slowly to make sure all her muscles still worked and all her limbs were still attached, False blinked and stared up at the sky. Her face hurt. Like really, really hurt. Something hot and wet dripped down from her nose over her mouth and cheek. Still, she kind of just laid there.

 

           Then, after a second, she forced her arms underneath her and sat right back up. Around her, some of the others yelped. Impulse flailed back, arms pinwheeling. Skizz leaned forwards, eyebrows raised as he tried to get a better look. Then, his whole expression changed from curious to…mildly horrified. His eyebrows went up and the corners of his mouth were drawn back into a grimace, eyes widening slightly like from shock. “Oh, wow.” He mumbled.

 

           Ears ringing slightly, False scrubbed at her hair and then rubbed at her nose. Impulse winced, making a face like he was an elementary school teacher whose students had just dropped a mud pie filled with worms onto the papers she’d been grading. “What? Why are you looking at me like I offended your mother and kicked your dog?” She demanded hotly, pushing herself upright.

 

           “Whoa, whoa, False.” Reaching out, Impulse tried to stop her. She could feel the others around her, Pearl and Grian and Iskall, trying to reach out. Trying to help her. But she was fine , she didn’t need help.

 

           Looking down at her arm, she frowned. Reddish blood was smeared across her brown jacket, the cuffed sleeve and her fingerless leather gloves. It marred the pale skin with more smears of red. “Stupid nose. Bleeding all over me.” She cursed under her breath. Shaking it off, she started walking forwards.

 

           “False, maybe you need to sit down.” Grian suggested. Shrugging him off, False strode towards the closest bench. Waved everyone off with a hand.

 

           “I’m fine, I’m fine.” They were protesting softly. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll sit down. Can someone get these wings off my back?” She dropped down with a heavy huff, felt the fake wings folding out. Rubbing the back of her neck, she tipped her head back, undid the braid her hair was currently in. “Stupid nose.” She paused, then tipped her head forwards and pressed a hand to her face. “Someone get me a, uh, napkin.”

 

           Behind her, she could feel Pearl and Grian carefully disconnecting the wings. Hands reached around to her front, because hers were currently busy with keeping the blood at her nose instead of on her trousers. Pearl carefully unclicked the straps from her collarbones and then the backpack strap ones. Copper flooded through her mouth and nose and she sighed. Someone—Impulse passed her a napkin and she pressed it to her face, over her nose.

 

           “Thank you.” She said nasally, trying not to sniff. “Ugh. Of course I’m going to get a nosebleed. Did I do any damage, anyone else hurt?”

 

           “Nope, just you.” Impulse replied.

 

           “False, love,” Skizz began, striding up. “You just took a pole to the face.” He indicated said pole, which was part of their little practice area where they were meant to get better with the flying first. There was a giant smear of red right across the now-splintered wood. At least it was a wood pole, False thought to herself, rolling her eyes. “And you’re just…being super casual? After it? How?”

 

           “It was just a little bonk. I’ll be fine.” False waved him off. She noticed Impulse and Skizz exchanging a look. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

           Impulse opened his mouth. Skizz, though, was the one to say it. Dropping forwards with his hand on his knee, he lifted the other and then poked the tip of his nose. “This part of your nose?” He moved it to the side. “This is where it’s pointing now.” He then moved his finger up, tapped the bridge, and added, “And you have an egg the size of the End Portal here.”

 

           “Skizz!” Impulse gasped, offended. “You don’t just say that!” He whacked the man on the shoulder. Straightening up, Skizz threw his arms out.

 

           “What do you mean? I’m right .” Skizz replied. Looking back at Pearl and Grian, False sighed and shook her head.

 

           “Come on, you’re going to the med bay. That sounded painful.” Pearl said, grabbing her arm. Delicately, she pulled False to her feet. “Come on. Grian, come with me.”

 

           False tipped her head back and let herself be dragged towards the infirmary, still holding the napkin to her nose.

 

Notes:

I’m aware this is short leave me be. Anyways, that’s it for this chapter! Now on to the next one!

Chapter 37: 28-Stalker

Summary:

At MCC, someone runs into a bit of a problem…

Notes:

TWs for stalking and self defence. This is the last chapter that I’m writing before this work is officially finished, just in time for this year’s Whumptober plans! Also, I promise I’m going to try and stay on top of it this year, but if not then we’re going to just have a Whump Autumn I suppose. Might just name it that anyways.
Hope you enjoy!

 

           The thing Cleo always liked about MCC was the after party.

 

           Everyone got to kick back and enjoy themselves. All the servers would take breaks, no one needed to do any particular work except for those participating. People could relax and spend some time with one another and with their families. So, of course, Cleo was walking around and checking in with the other Hermits. Wels wasn’t used to this amount of people, so he was gone. TFC and some of the older Hermits were out sick or just generally avoiding those they could and staying to keep watch over the server. Keralis was making sure Xisuma didn’t do anything stupid.

 

           So, Cleo and the Hermits who had attended were mostly there because they were supporting their fellow Hermits. Gem, Pearl, Grian, False, and Ren had all managed to make it to sign ups in time to be selected. For the moment, they were hanging out with their teams, chattering away as Grian pushed the winners’ crown out of his eyes and brushed his bangs to the side, laughed and joked with the rest of his teammates.

 

           Around the middle of the after party, when Cleo was standing by some of the snacks and grabbing a couple raspberry crowns to bring back to the others, she noticed that someone was following her.

 

           Glancing back behind her using one of the nearby platters, she caught a glimpse of this person’s reflection. Or, rather, their lack of one. A glitch, she thought to herself, eyes narrowing. Maybe a Reamon. Heard they’ve been causing some issues in some of the other servers. But would one really be out here? She couldn’t make out the features of their disguise. Only the amorphous, cloudy black figure that they left in the silver.

 

           Turning around, she leaned against the table. Smiled. “Hello, there. Come to try some of the snacks?” She asked, observing their current disguise. Warm, fair skin with freckles at the cheeks. Sharp blue eyes and short blond hair that fell only to the person’s shoulders, tied back in some portions. “I hear the raspberry crowns are delicious, I’m so bringing some back to my friends.”

 

           “I’ll be sure to try them.” The person replied. Walking over to the table, they stood next to her, shoulder brushing hers. Then, their fingers brushed her arm. Before she could respond, though, she felt something get slipped into her bracelet. “Well, I should go. I hope your friends enjoy those crowns. And tell your friend Grian congratulations.”

 

           Nodding, Cleo smiled and then slipped away, tucking the cookies into her inventory in a little food bag. Then, she slipped the thing from her bracelet. A note. Odd, jagged handwriting met her gaze. But that wasn’t the important part. No, that was the other note. A warning.

 

           Turn around.

 

           The hairs at the back of Cleo’s neck rose. Someone was behind her. Grabbing one part of her skirt, she lifted it away from her ankles and then slammed a heel down on the arch of the person’s foot. There was a hoarse rasp, and she kicked back. Spun and slammed an elbow into their face. She twisted back, slammed her elbow into their face the other way. Then, she smashed the heel of her palm right into their nose. They dropped to the ground.

 

           Around her, people gasped. Bending down, Cleo grabbed the man by the collar, straightened up, and walked over to the closest security. There, she dropped him off with a smile, tucked some of her hair behind her ear, and then hurried off to her friends.

 

           When she got to the others, False looked up. “Are you alright, Cleo? Your hair’s a bit…” She gestured, obviously indicating the frizz it had gotten. “Mussed.”

 

           “I’m alright.” Smiling, Cleo said, “I just got a little caught up in something. Anyone want raspberry crowns?”

 

Notes:

Before you ask a Reamon is just a Dreamon with the D dropped because I’m lazy pfft.

Anyways thanks for reading the fic! If you excuse me, I’m going to go start on this year’s plans! They’re chaotic (: