#etho likes to work more quitely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oflgtfol · 1 year

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its such a shame because i actually genuinely enjoy my job at michaels so long as im not main cashier like i genuinely enjoy being out on the floor and packing out truck or doing inventory or sales signs or price changes etc and even when customers ask me questions, i dont even mind then, and i actually enjoy helping customers out with different projects they work on. if i could make a living by working at michaels i think i’d even maybe just do that. but well i cant do that so whatever

but even as just a part time thing right now its driving me insane that im only working 10 hours a week. like its beyond frustrating in words i cant describe. its so insulting to be one of the longest working employees at this location, to be one of the few people who even enjoy working here, and then get fucking pocket change in exchange for all that

like i enjoy the work but i hate rhe company yknow. its driving me up a wall how extreme the hour cuts are this year compared to last year, the credit card and the rewards drive me up a wall, the stupid extend warranty thing that they rolled out with no warning that we had no formal training on and interrupts the flow of the register because it asks if you want a warranty on thee stupidest things, the lack of ability to get raises, the callous price increases, etc its just an endless list. the company as a whole is fucked and i hate it

but in terms of my individual store, and the “dirty work” of being a floor employee, i genuinely enjoy it and it sucks so fucking much to be pushed out of my job because of the shit pay and the shit hours. i know the philisophy of working minimum wage is that the company doesnt deserve for you to push yourself hard for minimum wage but like — i enjoy the work, i like being able to do these things, its actually fun for me to do these things, it takes my enjoyment out to half ass it. im not doing it for the company im doing it because for whatever reason, i actually have fun doing it. but yes it is driving me up a fucking wall that i get rewarded for that with these shit fucking hours. in fact it makes it harder for me to do my job when i actually do get hours - if im not in the store for a whole week then i miss a whole week of things being moved around the store as seasonal is shuffled, how the fuck am i supposed to accurately help customers locate things if i have such long gaps between shifts that my own knowledge becomes outdated? and when i cant accurately do my job then i dont have fun doing it - because then i feel like an idiot for being wrong or being uncertain, at best, or i feel like shit because then the customer is rude af when they find it instead and then single you out for not knowing

sorry i dont know what my point is here i just checked my schedule for tr next few weeks and im seriously at 10 hours a week and i have never had hours this short before im just so fucking mad about it. i am seriously bringing home larger paychecks from my damn food pantry job thats hard limited at 8 hours a week because that income is at least nontaxable

#brot posts #its just. its insulting i guess is what im saying #i know nobody else enjoys the job as much as i do #i always volunteer to stay late to get my work done if i didnt get to finish during my scheduled shift #i try to cover other shifts as much as i can #and granted those 2 are mostly bc im so eager for more hours that i’ll take hours where i can #but i also like staying late bc i like being able to finish the work i started !!#i like doing a good job lol!!!!!#thats part of my own personal ethos and satisfaction rather than any loyalty to the company #i just. i dont want to quit bc i love my coworkers i love this environment #and i dont want to quit and go elsewhere and then find myself in a worse environment. yknow?#what if my coworkers suck what if management sucks #and in terms of the actual store environment i think its entirely bc its a craft store #i dont think i’d enjoy the work itself as much if it was some other type of retail #like its specifically bc i enjoy art even if i dont do much of it myself compared to actual professionals #i like giving advice to people who come in with grand project ideas #i like seeing people who actualy come in with their projects and show it off #i like being able to occasionally do art On the clock!!#its fun! its so fun and i dont think any other type of min wage job has this #so i dont WANT to leave !! not until im ready to move onto another job thats more along the actusl career i want #but holy fuck THE HOURS !! ARE SO BAD !!!!#i cant help but feel so insulted like is the store manager punishing me specificslly for some reason!!#but no its just the company . literally everyone has been cut down to about 10 hours #it sucks so fucking bad and im so sick of it #im begging my managers for hours and thry just literally cannot give me any #i offer to stay late bc i didnt get to finish the work i was assigned and they have to tell me no leave and clock out you cannot stay #late because we do not have the hours

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theminecraftbee · 9 months

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Grian’s unsurprised, when he heads back into Decked Out, to find Tango in the waiting room. He’s lying on the marble floor, one hand pressed against the moss, staring up at the fake sun shining down. In here, away from the much dimmer, bluer light of the citadel, he looks pale. Far too gaunt and skinny. His eyes seem a little sunken-in.

He’s smiling, though. There’s wonder in those sunken eyes. He keeps on looking around with something so fragile in his expression. Grian doesn’t really want to interrupt, but…

“You know you’re not supposed to stare at it, right?”

“Oh! Uh, Grian!” Tango says.

“‘Course, we made it so it wasn’t actually the bright bit. Can look at the sun all you want from here.”

“Yeah,” agrees Tango. “I sure can.”

“Touch grass,” Grian continues.

“I mean, technically it’s moss,” Tango says, drawing his hand away almost self-consciously. Grian swears in his head. Stupid. He wasn’t trying to…

“There were a lot of us hanging out,” Grian says. “It’s a nice room, isn’t it? All fun and cheerful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it sure is,” Tango says. “Hey, Grian—”

“Nope. Not with me. Not gonna bother you about it. Just—you made something really cool, Tango. Plus, it was nice to see you. Haven’t seen you not in a hole in the ground for a while, you know? This isn’t quite the same thing, but since we’ll all be waiting in here for a while anyway…”

Slowly, Tango puts his hand back on the moss “Don’t worry. I’m happy,” Tango says. “I’m really, really happy. Hey, tomorrow, do you think just as many…”

“Tango, don’t be stupid. There might even be more of us.”

Tango sighs. It’s like some tension Grian can’t even name has left him. It should be nice, but there’s also something almost unsettling about it. The amount of contentment on Tango’s face—well, then again, Grian would be that kind of happy too, if he’d finished something that took over a year, and then it worked and everyone loved it.

“Yeah. That’s good. This is all really good. Yeah, I’m happy with this.”

But there’s something about how he’s showing it.

“Eat some more food while you’re up here. Scar’s been worried about you, and for some ungodly reason he’s been making it my problem. Do you hear me? Do you know how annoying it is when Scar makes something your problem?”

“Trust me, I know. Who else do you think he keeps bothering?”

“Fair enough. And don’t break our queue system! We worked really hard! I think Etho would kill you.”

Tango laughs. There are tears in his eyes, Grian realizes.

“I’m just—it’s so bright in here. And you all were laughing so much. And loved it so much. I’m so… happy. I’m so happy.”

Grian softens. “Yeah. Be proud.”

Tango beams. Grian goes back out of the waiting room. Something about it feels private, like he hadn’t been meant to intrude. He’ll dissect all that later. He’d just wanted to check in, since he’s here to add his decorations to the many cubbies everyone has decorated. Everyone really does love it. Tango’s going to be busy; between maintenance and everyone wanting to talk to him about what they’re doing, he’s never going to get a moment of peace alone. Might as well give him a little bit while he still can.

It feels important, somehow, for Tango to lie there and bask in it, in the moments he can.

#hermitcraft #tangotek #grian #a bee fic #this can be considered part of the ‘tango getting eaten by decked out’ thing if you want #but also I wanted tango to get a chance to get emotional about. the waiting room and everything going well #so HERE IT IS #grian being the one to talk to him because he seems to have taken point on that design

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maddragon15 · 13 days

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Finalized design for my version of Etho for hermitcraft s10!

Warning long infodump ahead about the decisions made and general lore

So I've had this idea that redstone is like uranium. Powerful, can be used for energy + various machinery and scientific discoveries, used to increase the value of the everyday lives (uranium girls ref) but with the major cause of life deletion/life altering affects. I believe that it would cause more mutations within redstoners over the course of time they are exposed to it and the varying degree that they're covered in it. But redstone is a fairly new resource that has been discovered in the world of minecraft/hermitcraft. So the research behind it isn't as strong nor as known as it should be. Therefore every effect that happens to the pioneers of redstone is completely new and unheard of. Which might be the reason why some builders like Grian, Scar, Ren, Gem, etc are hesitant to fully learn redstone mechanics due to the unknown nature of it but still aren't fully opposed because of the benefits it has.

In my world of hermitcraft for season 10 it's built off of the fact that there's quite a few people leaning into that cybery, technological, sci-fi theme. Like the Punks, then Ren's Gigaverse and of course the nature of Doc in general. So the main story is that this world of hc2410 is that it's a world that was much similar to earth. It went through the usual set of technological feats bit by bit, culture by culture.

For a long time their main power source which fueled everything was glowstone, a semi renewable material exported from the Nether and harvested from blazes and the blaze rods. Blaze rods were grinded down then compressed into glass like bilets which were then heated, strained, and forged into various forms that were needed. For a while it was small 2x2 inch cubes mainly used in lamps and later 6x6 foot cubes for lighthouses. But as the age of the iron wore on, technology looked much like the era of the vacuum tubes.

Thus began the swap of simplified forms of glowstone into the complexities of tubes and the requirement of more materials and longer time to create these specialized parts. Though that didn't stop what pioneers were part of that era, these guys being Etho, Tango, Doc, and Mumbo. Now these guys were very basic hybrids, Etho an arctic fox, Tango a nether born blaze, Doc whom was a rare specices of creeper, and Mumbo who was actually just a human. It took long and multiple days worth of work to even produce what would be a 4 part machine in modern redstone technology with glowstone. Though these guys were at this point young and determined to optimize their creations.

Glowstone in itself was a relatively safe material to work with unless of course consumed, if consumed it would wear down the lining of the stomach, cause holes in the intestines, and heat the user to an unbearable degree akin to the infamous iron bull method of torture except it was your insides and only your insides being subjected to it. To the person that found this out would never be credited and largely forgotten in most history records. Mainly because he died such a painful death and most didn't want to remember it. So when Etho was working on the mines with his crew and discovered redstone there was a guess and perhaps a hope that it would be as safe as glowstone. Therefore safety percautions that were used with materials like obsidian and diamond were thrown out the window. Instead it was instantly collected into glass cylinders and brought back to the workshop to be played around with.

Thus the reason why for most parts of hc2410 many will be seen with previous and malfunctioning innovations or straight up tech from the glowstone era. One of these people is Mumbo who still uses comms from the glowstone era as a way to keep his small hometown economy running because any way to help Big Ron was a win in his book. Pearl is also another example user of older innovations or at least less redstone heavy variations. Rather going into the world of solar, and botany side of technology dubbed leafstone. Other variations of older innovations would also have to be old port towns who used wind and small hydroplants to keep their town running and connected with the rest of the world such as Gem's & Grian's hometown.

With Etho being the main guy who really played around with it and pretty much like at it like ate it like it was sugar was thee very first to experience the mutational effect of redstone. At first his left eye would begin to flicker with rapid involuntary movement, then followed a set of what would be dubbed "chromatic abberation" (etho would be the only one to experience this and no one can confirm what he saw was accurate due to the mental state he was in), and the onset of vision loss. But this wasn't the first and last effect, he would begin to develop a second tail and unusual pelt coloring akin to the color of the newfound material. Much like the later steps of his changes the second tail development was not a pain free one. As the months continued his mental state worsened, this was due to the psychoactive effects of redstone and already altered vision. He would begin to see things that weren't there in a translucent red glow often accompanied by intense localized migraines behind the left eye. It would get so intense and unbearable that in the middle of developing the infamous etho hopper clock he began to claw at his left eye but the fingernails weren't enough and instead used a screwdriver to try to get it out. However Doc and Tango would find Etho moments before a prosthetic eye would take the permanent place of a redstone scarred eye.

Although Etho did wear a mask during the initial stages of redstone development and technology it wouldn't be enough against the sheer intake the 4 went through. Therefore under the careful guise of Xisumavoid, who'd later become the main caretaker/medic and manager, and Doc they would make several changes to how redstone was regulated. Making a mandate that all personnel, consumer, mechanic, and who ever else would have to wear a respirator and gloves during the usage of redstone. You'd think this would be easy to get the crew to swap into using respirators at the very least but it was met with much hesitation and backlash due to the blukiness that came with them. It was already tough to pack around the canisters of redstone, glowstone tubes, and iron baseplates and now they also had to squeeze into tight spaces with a clunky mess? But again Doc and Xisuma found ways to make sure that each member found a way to have their own variation of resperation based upon needs. It wasn't too hard to make one for Etho because he already had a mask but his stubbornness rivaled Doc, and took a near fatal pass out due to lack of blood production, aka just more extreme anemia, and bloody nose to convince Etho to finally add that respirator onto his mask.

Despite however the apparent dangers of redstone it sent the world of hc2410 into a new world of technology seemingly overnight, from clunky 60s-70s style tan and heavy clunk switches into an age more similar to thin touch panels and streamlined designs of now but with the flair of the iconic synthwave/cyberpunk style deemed by the 80s-90s. Yet it was met with strife due to how time consuming redstone was even with several engineers helping out on one project and most innovations were only available to the richest before being thrown out for the latest and greatest.

Also you may recall, if you've made it to this point, that I mentioned that the 4 were basic hybrids. Well much like Etho the effects on the rest weren't simple nor painless, and varied quite differently from each other. But those will be covered once their designs are finished.

I thank you if you've made it this far and I'll see you on the next hermitaday posts! :3

Edit: I also want to include that one of the main design inspos is actually Snakeyes from Gi Joe because that man is absolute gender to me. So why not combine my two favorite guys into one character.

Edit #2: Added more text breaks bc I no longer have 5 am involuntary eye movement. Which is odd because you'd think I'd need more text breaks but it's the opposite.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #ethoslab #etho fanart #par art #par hc

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frozenjokes · 13 days

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Put Me In Perspective, Or At Least In My Place (Another Retrospective On Aromantic Love)

“Above your head like this. Both hands, look at me. Both hands, Grian. It doesn’t take a lot of strength, just step forward and release around eye level.” Cleo demonstrated, holding the axe at the end of its handle and releasing the weapon. It flew in what had to be a perfect arc before burying itself in the wood, a bullseye of course. She threw the axe like she’d done it a thousand times, and honestly, she probably had.

“Don’t people throw them with one hand, too?”

“Yes. It’s just harder. Try this first.”

Grian pursed his lips, stepping forward, throwing, then squeaking when the axe bounced terrifyingly off the wood, hitting the wall before rolling and bumping the curb that separated the stall and his feet. Ah. That was frightening.

“Nearly took out our ankles there,” Cleo said, not sounding all too concerned.”

“It- Can it bounce over that?”

“Not easily. But not uncommonly either. Try not to do that.” Cleo strode forward, plucking the axe off the ground and handing it to Grian. “Don’t throw it while I’m in there.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Maybe you won’t, but some people need to be told,” Cleo grunted, ripping the axe she’d thrown from the wall and spinning it thoughtlessly in her hand before burying it in the stump that split their twin alleys. “Try again. Keep your wrists straighter, release at eye level.”

Grian shifted his weight, frowning, “Surely you brought me here to talk about something else other than axe throwing. ‘Cancel your plans, I’m picking you up,’ is an extremely ominous message to receive from a stranger at 8:00 at night. How did you get my number again?”

“Pearl. And we aren’t strangers, we’ve met at least once at that big friend get-together thing, you know. That awful pizza place? Regardless, I’m friends with runners, so force is necessary 90% of the time. If you want to skip to the talking, we can talk, but I don’t know if you want to hear what I have to say.”

“I probably don’t.”

“Then start throwing and I’ll do the work. You’ll get it to stick, just give her a few tries.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me.”

“Everyone gets it eventually.” Cleo looked relaxed, unconcerned, and Grian tried to match the energy, but he couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. Well. He was here, so he might as well make the most of it.

It took six more tries before he got an axe to stick. Wow that was satisfying- but the air seemed a little too heavy to celebrate more than Cleo’s tasteful clapping. Maybe he should come back here with Pearl and Impulse.. Jimmy maybe? He’d kill to see Jimmy try this actually, even if he’d likely crush Grian in the end. When Grian went to collect the two axes from the stall, Cleo finally spoke.

“I’d like to know what’s going on between you and Scar. Properly. It’s been a particularly shitty week for our friend group and Scar’s been in a foul mood for more reason than one, so we haven’t talked. And I’m not just here to interrogate you about Scar either, I’d really like to know what’s going through your head as well. Have you seen each other this week? Have you talked at all?” Cleo was firm, but nothing about their voice was hostile. There was a worried longing there, the kind of urging that came from a deep concern for a good friend.

Grian took a deep breath. “Not much. I saw him a couple days ago when I was getting lunch with Pearl at the zoo. He only texted me one other time to tell me he wouldn’t be.. we have this mutual place we hang out, and he just told me he wouldn’t be around this week. Too much going on. I’m really sorry about Etho by the way, I hope you guys find him.”

“Thank you. Bdubs got in contact with him yesterday, so we know he’s alright. We still don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home, but from what I’ve heard, he’s keeping frequent contact. Hasn’t called me or Scar, but that’s typical. With any luck he’ll be back safely soon. That’s what Etho said anyway. Still all sorts of concerning, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Grian tried not to be hurt that Scar hadn’t updated him, but failed miserably despite the fact it probably wasn’t any of his business. He just would’ve liked to know, that’s all.

“It is. So how did that clusterfuck of a night happen between you and Scar? How did that start?”

“Oh,” Grian mumbled, fidgeting with the axe still in his hands. Cleo took the other from the stump, throwing it almost lazily, like the question didn’t matter to her much at all. Grian decided to do the same, focusing on the secondary activity instead. “Well.. he invited me over. That was a couple hours after our first spat, and I was still feeling weird about it all. Wasn’t well.”

“I figured. He reached out to you first?”

“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to do anything though, just.. get it out of our systems. I was so mad at him- I’m still so angry, and not even for any reason in particular. I’m just mad.”

“Then how’d you end up in his bed?”

“Oh. I kissed him. He was pissing me off.”

“Right.”

Grian scoffed, snagging his axe off the floor of the alley after a failed throw. “How did you think this all went down? He told you the jist, basically. Not nicely, but he told you.”

Cleo shrugged. “I just wanted to know a few more details. Place my judgment a bit more accurately. From where I’m standing, you’re both idiots self destructing in the dumbest way possible. I would like it very much if this didn’t happen again, not only because it’s bad for both of you, but quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Come on.”

Grian curled his lip. “Listen, I don’t understand why it’s such a huge problem for Scar and I to work out our differences with a little violence. We're consenting adults and the sex was kinda nuts, so if we’re both having fun there’s no issue. In any case, I’m pretty sure this is solving all of our problems.”

“Oh? Do explain.”

Grian rolled his shoulders, throwing his axe and getting it to stick for the second time, “We’re just letting off steam, Cleo. Two months of awkward tension does a lot to a man, it does a lot, nothing good. This is like a shortcut to the whole ‘tiMe hEaLs aLL’ bullshit, we’re like- getting it out of our system.”

“Uh huh. And this is going to resolve your unrequited feelings for Scar how..?”

“I’m getting it out of my system, Cleo.”

“Ah, so having really good sex with a man who isn’t looking for the same things in a relationship as you is going to fix you.”

“You got it.”

“That’s the dumbest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” For the first time, Cleo’s axe bounced off the board. She strode to pick it up wordlessly.

“Alright.” Grian landed another axe, just inches from the bullseye.

“Grian,” Cleo sighed harshly, and Grian avoided her eye, uninterested in her scrutiny, “Listen. As dysfunctional as the both of you two are, I don’t actually believe this couldn’t work. You two have been as thick as thieves for ages, and as much as you’re scrapping now, I don’t think that’s indicative of how you actually feel about each other. You’re just hurt people hurting each other, and you don’t have to be. For goodness’s sake, Scar would have been happy to be in some sort of relationship with you, he just didn’t want to lose you altogether. Somewhere I think that got lost in translation.”

“Scar doesn’t want to date me. He only offered to appease me, it was as obvious as anything.”

“I don’t doubt there’s truth to that. He doesn’t do well under the pressure of a love confession, and that’s no one’s fault. But his feelings on romance are a lot more complicated than ‘wanting’ or ‘not wanting.’ You did the right thing to refuse him, Grian, he wasn’t ready. But I think it’s worth talking to him again. Laying everything out on the table. And I can’t speak for what Scar wants, his brain is a mess of tangled wires and sparks, but he’s obviously had plenty of time to think about this, and he might surprise you. If there’s one thing I do know about Scar, it’s that he loves to give things like this a try. And I mean that. He does love it.”

“But Scar won’t love me. Not like I want to love him.”

Cleo hummed, thoughtful as they considered the ceiling, “You know, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Grian huffed, “Unless I’m misunderstanding what ‘aromantic’ means, I don’t see what you mean.”

Cleo shrugged. “Scar loves everyone in big sweeping gestures. That doesn’t change from person to person, whether they’re family, close friends, lovers.. it doesn’t change. But there are still levels, right? There’s still loyalty. You’re thinking of Scar as loving you like a friend, but I think that’s the wrong approach. Making that distinction makes it seem like his love would be less intense, like he wouldn’t still give you everything he has. Try.. a scale, 1 through 10, maybe. For you, you’re looking to give Scar your 10 on the scale, right? A 9 or 10, whatever it is, that’s the kind of love you want to give, the kind of love you’re looking to receive. In Scar’s brain, he’s been giving you that 10 for months, and if you asked to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d probably go ahead and accept without hesitation. That’s just how he feels about the people he’s close with.”

Grian didn’t speak, still working out how to process those words, but Cleo did not mind continuing in his absence. “If you’re worried about not being #1, then I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, friend. With anyone. You’re contending with mothers, brothers, sisters, friends that go back to high school, grade school, diapers. Being intimate doesn’t outweigh those bonds, not for most people. And this isn’t to say that a relationship with Scar would be exactly the same as it would be with anyone else, it won’t, and if you’re the type of guy that gets insecure when your partner is physically friendly with other people, then forget it, but in my truest of hearts, if you’re looking for someone to love, I believe Scar would be more than good for you. He would treat you well,” Cleo paused, thoughtful before continuing, “And honestly, things literally can not get any messier between you two. There are zero stakes to giving this a shot. You’ll either feel a lot better about yourselves or you’ll go your separate ways, both of which are a huge improvement to whatever the fuck is happening between you two now. Maybe you’ll even stay friends after talking all this shit out. Who knows.”

Grian returned his axe to the stump, needing to sit down. To think. He was quiet for a long time just sitting there, the only sound being the bustle of other customers and Cleo’s own axe hitting its mark time and time again.

“You really think he’d want to give it a shot?”

Cleo shrugged and shook her head noncommittally, “Who knows. But it wouldn’t surprise me. So long as you two actually talk this all out, I think anything could happen. And Christ, if you two decide to get together and still want to ‘fall down the stairs’ then have nasty sex afterward, that’s your prerogative, but for crissakes, at least wear some sort of padding or a helmet or something, don’t actually kill each other.”

Well. He had gotten Scar that helmet, hadn’t he.

“I’ll think about it,” Grian mumbled, eyes lidded. And he was. He was thinking quite hard about it.

#suggestive #hermitshipping #scarian #hermitcraft #hermitfic #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #zombiecleo #I forgot to post this lol #mumbomaid au

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zedif-y · 1 month

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omg!!!! joel + "afraid" maybe???

Joel isn't afraid of water.

He grits his teeth, forces a smile when Grian looks over at him, head tilted in question. He shakes his head.

" 'm good," is what comes out of his mouth, casual as anything. "Don't wanna get wet."

Which is true, you know. He's not lying. He's just... Kinda not feeling the whole swimming thing right now. Even though he said he would. Multiple times.

...Nothin' wrong with that. A guy can change his mind, can't he?

Grian looks unimpressed, "You went to a beach party to people watch?"

Ugh.

"You went over here to judge?" Joel fires back. An itching something creeps under his skin. "I'll put sand in your wings, Grian, don't think I won't." Grian huffs.

"Someone's tetchy today," He mumbles. He stretches his wings, large swaths of red feathers that catch the sun, "Whatever. Call me if you need me, I'll be over by- Mumbo, are you sunburnt already?!"

Joel watches him go, amusement on his lips as Grian runs off. He lets out a breath.

Why'd he agree to this, again?

("Hey," Impulse says. "So, the other hermits and I were planning something, and we were wondering if you'd wanna-")

("Yes," Joel blurts out, then— "I mean no- I mean! What're- what's the plan?")

(Joel fights a wince.)

(Nice save, idiot.)

(But Impulse just smiles—thank the gods—and goes, "Well, it's nothing fancy or anything. Just a hangout at the beach. Grian found this awesome spot-")

And Joel promises he was listening. He was. It's just, you know. Exciting? 'Cuz he's one of the new guys and it's a whole new server to get used to and they actually want him to hang out, and that's great and he's got plans for builds, farms, and, and.

Maybe, just- maybe. He wants this to work out. Really wants this to work out. Wants to be here to stay.

Because like— Joel's a Hermit now. A real, bonafide Hermit, even though it doesn't feel real. Even if it hasn't quite sunk in yet.

So. You know. What's the harm, right?

("I'll be there," Joel says at last, grinning in a way that he hopes is casual and not painfully eager. "When's it happening?")

Joel can't help but wonder if this is turning out the way he wanted it to, though.

The heat prickles at his skin, leaves him sweating and uncomfortable in his rolled up shirt and pants. He fans himself with the front of his shirt, just watching the others pass the time.

Hermitcraft's got a variety of members— Jevin laughs as xB drenches Keralis in a spray of water, halting when sand is thrown his way in return. ("You know that sticks to me!") Xisuma's in swim trunks and his usual helmet, fanning himself with his hands like it'll stave off the heat. Tango doesn't even break a sweat.

Something worms into his chest, an ugly, twisting feeling that curls around his lungs.

Joel grimaces. Oh, what the heck.

Biting his lip, Joel looks down at his chest, under his shirt. He doesn't exactly grimace, but there's nothing happy about his face, either.

Again, ugh.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. He goes back to people watching, ignoring the prickling discomfort under his skin. This is fine. This is fine.

At the corner of his eye— Pearl stands by the side, cracking jokes with Etho. They're both still wearing jackets. It makes something in Joel unfurl, just a little bit.

He tears his eyes away before they spot him.

The thing is— Joel doesn't, like, hate himself or anything. Not anymore, or at least not right now. And he's not afraid of water, despite how intensely he stared at the sea. It's just, it's...

Joel chews on his lip, picking off dried skin. The small tears bleed, droplets of blood on his tongue as he licks them away. He barely realizes he's doing it— and by the end, his lip twinges a little, reddened and sore.

Sweat makes his clothes cling to his skin. Joel wishes he hadn't agreed to any of this at all.

"You got room for one more?" A voice asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Joel turns to look— "Zedaph," He says, surprised. He scoots over his (frankly, way too large) beach blanket, "Yeah, I've got- yeah. You can sit."

Zedaph grins, "Just Zed is fine," He tells him, sitting next to Joel.

He's not in his usual getup right now, Joel notes. Not that he'd know. He's only talked to the guy twice, seen him in meetings. But something about the lack of a cardigan, although understandable, strikes Joel as a bit off— it's like seeing your teacher in casual wear outside of school. Makes sense, but it's kinda weird.

"You gonna swim?" Joel asks, just for something to fill the air. By the water, Scar gets pinched by a crab. Joel snickers.

Zedaph watches on, amused. "With how hot it is, I feel like I already am," He huffs. He rifles through his inventory, a pink fan appearing in his hand, "But no, I don't think I will. It's a nightmare on the wool."

Joel hums, makes sense.

"How about you?"

Joel frowns— he doesn't mean to, it just kinda happens— and says, "Uh, dunno. Maybe? I don't-" He makes a face. "I said I would, but now 'm not sure."

After a beat, Zedaph shrugs. "Well, you've got time," He says at last, and that's that.

They settle into people-watching, for the most part. Just watching the other Hermits bask in the sun, laughing and splashing around as the day goes on.

It looks— it looks fun. It looks so fucking fun.

Joel grits his teeth, the hand gripping the front of his shirt tightening without his notice. What the heck. What the heck.

Frustration gnaws at him, eyes caught on the way they all carry themselves, loose and carefree. Not at them, obviously, it's at his stupid, like, brain—

Joel lets out a breath, deep and measured.

He wanted to come. He said he'd come, join in and swim and whatever else. But now he's here and he's sitting in the shade and not even talking to Zedaph because he can't get a hold of himself, too worked up over nothing as he agonizes over the fact that his shirt is clinging to his skin and it's wrong and it's weird and it feels like, like.

Joel lets his gaze drop to the sand at his feet.

It feels like if they knew, if they saw him the way he saw himself, then they'd, like, regret inviting him here. Or something. Here being the server and the world and not just beach party.

Which, which is stupid and he knows this, but it's so hard to shake— like, how did he even get here, again?

Joel bites back a groan. Today is an awful day to have blummin' imposter syndrome.

For goodness' sake, now he's sulking.

After a while, Zedaph speaks up.

"Are you alright?" He asks, eyebrows drawn together. Joel wants to evaporate on the spot.

He shakes his head, then grimaces. Now he's acting like a toddler.

"Oh," Zedaph says, looking a bit lost. Joel can relate. "...Thirsty?"

Joel blinks. "Huh?"

"Sorry," Zedaph's cheeks flush pink, shaking his head, "I'm not very good at this. D'you want to talk? I can listen if you want."

Joel thins his lips, weighing his options.

He thinks that in another world, another time he probably would've just kept this to himself. 'Cuz he can handle this, he's not a kid. But somewhere along the line— the line of repeatedly bottling shit up, having it rattle and shake and eventually explode— he sort of. Well.

Maybe he realized that that doesn't work. Anymore.

So, "It's stupid."

Joel winces. Great start.

"I mean, it's not. I guess. It's just, new guy jitters, you know?" He tries to explain, watching as understanding dawns on Zedaph's face, a knowing smile that puts a balm on the static-y feeling in Joel's veins. "I'm sorta freaking out about, everything? Even the ones that don't make sense."

His cheeks burn red, "Like the way I'm all sweaty and gross and— I kinda don't want people to see, my body—?" He cuts himself off, his face pinched like he swallowed a lemon. "It's, you know. Not just because of gender things, but it is kind of that, but it's... Gods, Zed, just tell me they aren't gonna kick me out."

The last words come out in a rush, high-pitched and not squeaky as they tumble past Joel's lips. Zedaph blinks.

"Before I joined Hermitcraft, I was falling through the sky with my own sick on my head," Zedaph starts. Which. "Before that, the first ever thing I did was dig a hole in the ground and call that my home. And make an egg farm. But mostly the digging."

Joel tries very, very hard to find where this is going. (A fool's errand, from what he's heard about Zed, but still.)

"When I was asked to join Hermitcraft, my first thought was— really? Me?" Then, he laughs. "But they were serious! And I even asked Tango, then, if it was some elaborate prank. But it wasn't! They really wanted me on here!"

Zedaph gestures around them, "It's easy to get caught in your head, I get that. But we know what we're doing—" He pauses. "When it comes to this, at least. When the Hermits invited me, they knew what they were signing up for— vomit and worms and holes in the ground. And possibly a hint of death and malpractice. Of all sorts."

The knot, slowly unraveling in Joel's chest, starts to loosen up.

Somehow. What was that about death?

Zedaph nudges him, "So lighten up, yeah? Nobody's getting kicked out." Joel manages a smile.

"Thanks, Zed-"

"I mean, if people got kicked out for being sweaty and gross, there'd be no one left!" Zedaph leans in to stage-whisper, "What, you think Impulse didn't sweat in season 9? With all that lava?"

Joel snorts, "Point taken."

Zedaph grins. He leans back, resting on the base of the palm tree they've settled under.

"Take your time to figure out if you're swimming or not," Zedaph tells him, purple eyes glinting under flecks of sunlight. "But nobody will mind if you just stay here. Promise."

Joel nods. This time, smiling comes easier.

"Okay," He replies. He lets out a breath, watches as the sun shines down on the beach, "Thanks, Zed."

"Not a problem."

---

(Joel doesn't, in fact, end up swimming.)

(He watches the sun set on the horizon, eats barbecue at the makeshift grill Skizz brought. It's only the best thing he's eaten all day.)

(Joel laughs at something Gem said, so hard that his lungs kind of hurt.)

(Sitting around a bonfire, shirt smelling like smoke, his anxieties lay forgotten, for now.)

(Joel doesn't swim. Maybe he won't for a while.)

(But there will be more opportunities to try.)

#THEY ARE NOT ALL GOING TO BE THIS LONG. PART OF THIS IS OLD WRITING AND I JUST ENDED UP FINISHING IT SKLDJHGSDG #joel smallishbeans #zedaphplays #zedaph plays #hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitblr #mcyt #mcytblr #ryan's writing #ask games #anon #hermitcraft season 10 #hc s10

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annabelle--cane · 30 days

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placing my hands out placatingly, asking everyone to please be cool and not reignite og!elias burnt out gifted kid discourse. okay? okay. I think this is setting up some more sam and gwen parallels. from mag 193, we know that elias bouchard (original flavor) was told from a young age that he was smart but lazy, he was squandering his advantages, and he was wrong to envy other children because they were meaningless and he was better. he seemed to internalize this to some extent, because by the time he was in his early twenties he had no friends and no family and no real life, just the certainty that he was destined to deserve better.

I think it is reasonable to assume that gwen received similar messaging during her childhood, as she seems to be treating the OIAR the same way elias treated artefact storage (as a stepping stone job to a bigger career waiting for her up the ladder), and she takes a lot of offence when she feels disrespected. from magp 03, we know she's reticent to tell her friends that she's still working this same job, especially because the friend's party she was going to was to celebrate making partner at a law firm.

from this episode, we know that sam was declared "gifted" as a child and his parents rigorously enrolled him in every program they could find, and it started going down hill when the magnus institute rejected him (did they reject him outright or was he there for a bit and then kicked out? what he said to celia doesn't quite fit his earlier statements, but moving on). he has a lot of pent up and fixated feelings about not being chosen by them, he didn't get into oxford, he just missed the highest grades, and he's reticent to tell his parents that he's working this job, especially because he used to be at a law firm.

we know the bouchards are a wealthy and influential family, and as sam speaks with a south asian accent I think it's safe to assume that his family immigrated. of course, there's a massive amount of variation in the socioeconomic statuses of south asian immigrant families in the UK, and I don't know enough about how british gifted kids programs work to know if sam having been in a bunch of them would imply anything about his parents' disposable income, but nonetheless I still think their different backgrounds potentially say a lot about how they handle these feelings of not meeting the high standards that were expected of / promised to them. gwen is fighting to be on the same level of social status and power as her peers, and sam probably felt like he was he had opportunities for upward mobility in this brand new place but kept failing them. it's causing both of them to be very active characters, they are the two people pushing the story forward the most by far, but the ways in which they are active diverge greatly.

gwen, until recently, had felt like she was unfairly stagnating, like she was "not most people" and was cut out for better, and being constantly barred from climbing the ladder made her both resentful of lena and extremely paranoid / insecure about her own worth. now that she's starting to crack it into the "real work," it's obviously taking a great toll on her, but she doesn't want to back out, she wants to prove herself and take what's rightfully hers and not show herself to be unfit for real power. her actions appear to be guided by an ethos that her life hasn't been wasted yet, she still has time to make good, she just needs to ignore that weakness masquerading as a conscience, please god don't let her fail.

sam feels like he's made mistake after mistake after mistake and led himself to his own desperate state where he only just managed to avoid destitution because his ex was kind enough to hook him up with an emergency job that is actively destroying his physical and emotional health, and he has pinned all this frustration on trying to figure out what the magnus institute was all about and why it didn't choose him. like gwen, great things were expected of him, but unlike her he doesn't seem to still be striving for them, that dried up when he had a breakdown at his last job. now he just wants to figure it out and make sense of it, as if solving the mystery will let him fix it and undo all that time and un-waste his promised potential. his actions seem to be guided by an ethos that, even though he's already screwed everything right up, solving the ghosts that haunt his life will some how lessen their burden and maybe, just maybe, give him closure on the Flaw That Doomed Him and allow him to move past it without dragging it still forward.

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #marina marvels at life

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horsemeatluvr23 · 30 days

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more inconsequential hermit headcanons because y'all make them suffer too much:

- bdubs is lactose intolerant but in complete denial about it, he WILL kill you if you try to bring it up

- mumbo gets the hiccups every time he gets too cold

- tango really loves bugs and will cry if someone hurts an insect, even if it's just an accident

- etho is really good at french braiding hair and gem forces him to do her hair whenever she can

- false can make arrows the fastest out of anyone on the server, they've held competitions but nobody can ever beat her

- keralis is immune to all poison from food, and he always makes spider farms early on because spider eyes are his favourite snack (everyone else thinks he's insane)

- joehills doesn't actually need to sleep, but he makes bedrooms in all of his bases just in case other hermits want to stay over

- xisuma programmed software for his helmet that allows him to have basic communication with peaceful mobs

- iskall actually loves cats but he's quite allergic to them, he doesn't want to upset stress so he pretends he doesn't like cats because he doesn't want her to know she's been making him unwell

- after doc became obsessed with tomatoes, he decided to create technology to allow other hermits to grow crops from their homelands that wouldn't typically survive in other climates or in the overworld. it's become a community effort every new season to create a greenhouse where everyone can grow small amounts of food from their cultures, so none of them ever get too homesick

- a few seasons ago cleo asked zedaph if he could make a nail polish formula that doesnt chip off easily after spending time underwater and he hyperfixated on it for weeks before creating a nail polish that works so well it never chips, you have to use blaze powder mixed with dragon's breath to remove it. he refuses to charge anything for the nail polish and will give bottles to anyone who asks

#PLEASE ADD YOUR OWN IN THE NOTES OR SEND ME ASKS...#i'm obsessed w writing these even though they are so stupid #iskall #etho #xisuma #falsesymmetry #stressmonster #docm77 #keralis #hermitcraft #horsemeat headcanons #inconsequential hermit headcanons

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hmshermitcraft · 30 days

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Everyone knows not to frighten etho. Even if it'd be really funny, it's just not worth it. When Etho gets startled or jumpscared or frightened, he pops outta existence a little bit. He's a bit of a phantom, not the sky rats but like literally, he's a ghost.

He's not very good at being dead, not like Cleo who had full control of being a zombie or Joe who has.....some control of the jopacity...jhostlyness or whatever it is that they've got going on. Etho sucks at it, and whenever he gets startled he pops out of sight. Fully invisible, completely intangible. And he can't control it at all! He just has to wait until his nervous system reorient itself.

Poor Joel doesn't know this. Double life stabilized everyone's wonkyness for the sake of the games. So scar didn't get birdbrain'd, Jimmy didn't get hypothermia (cause despite popular belief, most netherborn are quite cold blooded to cope with the hot environment), martyn didn't have a sudden urge for human meat, and Joel didn't become a phantom. Etho was also unable to disappear which was painful but otherwise nice.

So one day Joel gets the bright idea to sneak up on Etho and scare him shitless, because it's funny and Joel shows affection via pranks and annoyance. Poor Etho didn't know what hit him, one moment he's quietly pulling weeds in his garden, the next he's scared out of his mind and completely gone.

Luckily Etho had signs on hand so he can tell Joel how uncool that was and how annoying it's gonna be to wait to come back.

Joel, to his credit, does feel really bad and since Etho's unable to finish his gardening, Joel offers to do it for him. Which he does, which is hard work, so Etho offers him his spare room so he doesn't have to make the journey all the way back.

It's not that far but he gets really lonely when he's all ghostly and he wants company.

Joel doesn't take up too much of the bed. Etho's cold, without the warmth of the sun or his jacket he's freezing in his little purgatory. Joel wakes to a presence, something not quite there but heavy against his side. It's Etho, unsurprising, who's still cold and a little transparent but peaceful all cuddled up against him.

He rolls onto his side so he can pull Etho closer, allowing him to press his cold nose into the crook of his neck. He won't scare Etho anymore, he'll find another way to show his affection.

Probably.

-carrie

Really, it's disappointing that it actually distresses Etho, because it's the funniest reaction ever. Does Etho understand how much prank potential this has? How funny it is that he just poofs when he's scared? It's hilarious. The fact it feels terrible sucks.

What Joel found out surprisingly quickly is that Etho is a lot jumpier than he expects. Joel knocked on the door, for goodness sake! What else is he supposed to do?

So far, wrapping his arms around Etho and giving him a gentle kiss has worked best. Etho says the fact somebody is touching him helps. Hardly like Joel needs an excuse to get his hands on Etho more often, but he'll take it.

#hermitshipping #ask #etho tag #joel tag #smalletho #carrie anon #mod 🎀#weekly theme: back from the dead

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sapphia · 1 year

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limited life was the best roleplay series for me by far. everyone was just so good at playing into people's bits. the improvised nature of it made it so fun, and barring the odd moment, it truly didn't feel like people were starting much drama for drama's sake.

the best of the rp was fairly spontaneous--scar didn't go into a series planning to become cleo's favourite son, but they just had such a good time being around each other and leaned into the dynamic and extrapolated their rp from how they were around each other. and it really payed off. i'm sooo glad cleo embraced it even though she was reluctant at first. i love how scar and bdubs supported her into her own amazing interpretation of arguably a not-so-fun role. i'm stunned at how into the rp etho got. he absolutely suffered for this rp and it was incredible. all those deaths. his destroyed reputation! but it worked so well.

and the bad boys! sure, joel came in with his predetermined character, but his flexibility in bringing people onto his team, into incorporating jimmy and grian and even offering to rename the bit for pearl if she'd joined--that was what really allowed it to be good. leaning into the ironic bad boys who aren't actually bad (at anything but minecraft) was delightful. bread bridge was wonderful. seeing all the players just get to be so very themselves and enjoy themselves and work as a team while having so much fun with the rp aspect made this team so good.

i loved that we didn't get solo players this season, that martyn and scott teamed up even when they didn't interact much in episode one. coral kids and TIES really felt like everyone was playing not just with their friends, but with the people who played the game in the same way they did. i can't put my finger on what made martyn and scott a good fit together but they are, and ties were the perfect little "nerds" (as scar called them) with so much heart, while etho still got to do his weird thing with bdubs and roleplay with the clockers. and the tension between all these groups! scott and cleo's hard alliance and the rest of the clockers just following along because mom. ties animosity with the clockers despite whatever it was etho was doing. they just let bdubs tag along for the day! etho had a take his kids to work day and it was hilarious! and martyn sticking to scott but also kinda being sketchy in the background with everyone, showing a pleasant face but clearly not being quite as invested in all the relationships as everyone else, which then played into the ending where he betrayed his partner in the series where team bonds were never broken--

and while i wish pearl and bigb had got to be a bit more involved in the storylines and they were a little sidelined from some of the best action, by god they played their nosey neighbour role well. the tension with the clockers, the feud with jimmy, stealing the enchanting table, finding themselves so isolated and alone because they're just neighbours and they built a wall between them and the server. perfection.

so yeah. loved how everyone was enjoying themselves. loved how rp got to flourish in the peaceful periods and how the high death limit played into the drama. loved that everyone mostly just went with the flow and the narratives became so fun because of it. *chefs kiss*

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tunastime · 2 months

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Sunset in the Heart of that Green Valley

started drumming up an au accidentally with some input from the mutuals beloved. told myself it wasn't going anywhere but this so I had to stick as much as I could into just. this. I SWEAR. < lying

Bdubs can't remember a part of his life without Etho--no matter the shape or profession, the danger or lackthereof. It was always Etho, and himself, and this wild, wasted world. Or, Bdubs watches his cows on the farm. Etho joins him on his horseback ride around the perimeter fence.

(4111 words)

It's a long, slow ride a mile from the wire fence and sparse tree line that borders the ranch. It's nothing but cool wind and wiregrass for miles, soft green and brown as the spring starts to roll in. Soon enough the field will be full of baby calves and their healthy mamas, big brown eyes and full stomachs. Horses too—lots of 'em, kind natured but tough, enough to fight you but not enough to bite the hand that feeds 'em. He'll be able to lift a foal into his arms to stand it upright and watch its mother nose his armpit and look at him with those soft brown eyes. For now, BdoubleO takes that long ride along the border, listening to cicadas sing in the trees. That's not the only thing singing though. Besides the breathing of his horse beneath him and the cattle dog that runs ahead, is the soft, mellow voice of his partner, Etho, humming indistinctly.

He has his head turned toward the tree line, eyes scanning listlessly for any sign of movement. Just a couple of weeks ago, they lost a handful of chickens to a fox, a thing neither of them could stand to kill even as they went looking for it. From where he rides next to him, Bdubs can see the holster for his revolver strapped tight to his thigh. He's never actually seen the gun, for what it's worth. Not in action. Not even the smell of gunpowder on Etho's leather work gloves. He's only ever watched his thin, strong, meticulous hands clean the individual parts and put it back together. It makes sense why Etho's focus is so drawn to that tree line. He probably doesn’t want it to happen again.

Bdubs watches the curve of his shoulders under the off-white button-up he's wearing. It's loose at his elbows and under his arms, but from the way he slouches, hat tipped back to cover his neck, it's tight across his back. Bdubs sighs—for a moment, that's the only thing that breaks the silence. Bdubs' longing rings out in the stale air, and a chuckle joins the hum of that wordless melody.

"Somethin' the matter, 'dubs?" Etho says, glancing over. He can just hear him through the scarf tucked around his face, tied behind his neck. His hair is tucked under his hat, tied away nearly the same. Its just his eyes, warm and smiling, eyebrows raised, when he looks over. Bdubs scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"No," he says. "Nothin's the matter. What's it to ya, anyway?"

Etho shrugs. He shuts his eyes for a second when he does. Bdubs can picture the little frown on his face when he does.

"Figured I'd ask," he says cooly. "That was a pretty profound sigh."

"Nothin' for you to worry about," Bdubs gripes. He taps Lacey with his heels and she meanders forward, huffing out through her nose. He hears Etho laugh as he pulls away, and it's only a second before Etho's at his side again. He tugs Bdubs' hat over his eyebrows.

"Don't be like that, 'dubs!" Etho pouts. "You sounded upset."

"Quit teasin' me," Bdubs grumbles, swatting at him with the hand not wrapped around the reigns. Lacey patters to a stop as Bdubs slackens on the reigns, trying to grab Etho's hat. Etho ducks his head.

"Bdubs!" He laughs, pushing his hands away.

"Quit!"

"You quit!"

Bdubs huffs again, shrinking back, then straightens. Etho's turned away from him, all of a sudden. Bdubs goes to speak, but as he does, he hears Etho say something so quiet it's felt more than heard.

It's sunset, he's just realized. The orange light leaks through gaps in the trees, casting gold bars over the wheatgrass and dry dirt. He can see light blue leaking into orange, pink, yellow, blending into white clouds above him. This time, the profound sigh whistles out of Etho's chest. Bdubs bites his tongue. Haloed by the gold light, Etho looks like the type of things only lonely cowboys dream about. The perfect outlaw, or the hardworking ranch hand, or the kindhearted sheriff looking for love. The things you read in dime novels, no matter the flavor of romance. Bdubs feels his heart squeeze, the want pooling in his elbows and the joint of his hips. He won't sigh again, or make any other sound, not as long as Etho watches the sunset.

"Wow," Etho mumbles. His horse snorts. Etho huffs a laugh, reaching just far enough to pet between his ears. "Wow..."

"It's gorgeous," Bdubs says. He'd be lying if he said he was talking about the sunset.

Etho turns back to him after a beat. Bdubs's eyes flick up to his face, tilting his head a little as Etho's soft eyes linger on him. He can see the indistinct scarring up part of his face, near his eye and eyebrow. Tugging off his gloves, Bdubs raises a careful hand up to Etho's face. There, he tucks two fingers in the space between his cheek and the scarf over his face, and tugs it down. Etho doesn't stop him. In fact, he's smiling just so when Bdubs does. He's got nothing to hide, really—the scarf is for the dust, more than anything else. He scrunches his nose as the scarf falls around his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Bdubs says softly. His hand cups Etho's cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough, scarred skin of his left cheek. Fire. They're all healed burns. His thumb dances over them anyway, like he'd never seen them or brushed them or kissed them before. Two long strands of hair frame Etho's face. Here, Bdubs tucks one of them behind his ear, still moving to cradle his face. The look that passes over him makes Bdubs' stomach fold over. He's smiling, wide and soft, and his eyes shut as he leans into Bdubs' palm.

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho mumbles. His voice hits a low octave as he whispers. Bdubs flushes. Etho's hand falls to Bdubs' hip, both steadying for himself and for Bdubs' balance, thumb pressed into his hipbone as he leans forward into Bdubs' space. Etho's hand comes to tip his hat back as far as it'll go before it knocks from his head, scrunching up his nose as Bdubs' flush grows a little warmer, a little further over his cheeks and ears. He's smiling, though, and so is Etho. Bdubs can't help it—he was just so damn handsome, that stupid cowboy. Damn him. He keeps himself lingering in Etho's space for a beat longer, tracing out the high of his cheek with his thumb. The sun's still setting, warm and orange behind him. He can't even see stars yet.

"Can we stay?" Bdubs asks, sighing out his nose. His eyes flick behind Etho's shoulder for a moment, watching the bars of light through the trees. "Just to watch?"

Etho smiles, his eyes going all soft and round like they do when Bdubs says something he particularly likes. Must've liked that, then. He noses Bdubs' palm just a little, looking up into the sky before settling on Bdubs' face again.

"Sure," Etho mumbles. "Why not? Stars haven't even come out yet."

Bdubs grins, knocking their foreheads together, a soft laugh bubbling up in his chest before it leaves him with his exhale. Etho scrunches his nose.

Leaning forward as far as he can, Etho kisses him. His warm, gloved hand fits over the back of his neck, brushing through the close cropped hair there. His lips are chapped from the dusty air, but they're dry and warm and Bdubs feels Etho hum against his mouth. He presses back and up into him, free hand falling to his knee to stabilize himself. Etho pulls in a fast breath through his teeth and kisses him again, firm but gentle. Bdubs shuts his eyes and keeps them shut, feeling Etho's hand curl against the base of his skull, feeling them work in tandem with each other. It's nice and easy and tender in a way that curls up in Bdubs' chest and rests there, calmly. It's sweeter than anything else he knows, or damn near close to it.

He smiles against his lips, dragging his thumb in a slow line across the rippled scar on his cheek. He's so gentle with him, Etho is, as he is with Etho, up until the point of course that they're chasing each other around on foot and on horseback and scrapping in the dirt just to prove a point. But here it's intentional. Bdubs rubs his cheek and that scar so Etho knows he wants to feel it He wants to feel where it starts at the high of his cheekbone and ends just under the low dip of his eye, how the uneven surface gives to smoother skin, how it’s all patches of rough and light. He wants to see that it cuts through his eyelid and eyebrow and that the eyebrow never really grew back and his hearing wasn't always that good in that ear. He wants to. He loves him. To love Etho was to love each thing he called an imperfection.

"I'll be damned, cowboy," he mumbles under his breath. Etho laughs, just a little, from somewhere high in his chest.

"What's that?" he asks, crushing his cheek into the heel of Bdubs' hand. Bdubs shakes his head.

"Nothin', gorgeous."

"Mmh," Etho agrees. Bdubs can tell his face is warm from more than just the desert heat.

"You liked that, mm?" he says. He leans up to kiss Etho just once, sighing out through his nose.

Etho nods, stilted, still flushing as Bdubs draws himself and his hand away. There's a moment that Etho's hand stays warm and solid on his hip and the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over him, the clouded vision of his left still trying to focus on Bdubs' face. A soft smile lingers on his face, lifting the edges just enough to form the smile lines Bdubs loves to kiss. They're there more often than not, still fading as Etho's face softens, as he takes care to wash the grime off and soothe his skin with beeswax. They linger for a second before they, and Etho, draw away, settling back on his saddle and sitting up. He stretches, screwing up his expression as Bdubs hears his spine pop.

"Augh," he vocalizes. Bdubs snorts as Lacey does, shuffling her hooves in the dry grass.

"Let's get a move on then, old man," Bdubs teases, reaching for his reins and to prod the soft of Etho's knee. Etho jerks, trotting his horse a step away from Bdubs hands. There, he sticks out his tongue, fixes his hat, and tucks the bandana around his nose again. There's that familiar shape—sheriff to outlaw, the line of Etho's eyes honing his gaze to razor sharp. Bdubs sighs, letting himself laugh, before he jerks his head forward, pushing his hat back onto his head. He prods Lacey with the heels of his boots and she steps forward into a jog.

Above his head, the wink of stars begin to shine in the dull, pale blue sky. He can still see the lick of orange light like flames above the treeline, cascading over the red-grey and sparse green hills, framing Etho in a delicate picture. Bdubs grins, eyes settling on his partner behind him. He sees Etho's eyes squint as he presumably smiles. Nudging a little more, Bdubs brings Lacey up to a trot, and further to a canter as he hears Etho laugh, loud and clear across the planes, behind him.

In the distance, he can see the warm cast of oil lamps they lit before they left. As much as Bdubs' bones crave the man not even a few yards behind him, they ache for the cool halls of their house, warm coffee, and the light he can just barely catch in the rising night.

Later that night, Bdubs scrapes congealed fat out of the cast iron skillet Etho cooked in. His body and stomach are heavy with the meal they’ve just finished, beans and pork and cornmeal grits, the taste of whatever last few seasonings Etho had thrown in still lingering between his teeth. He scrubs the pan in the hot water, feeling out what were nicks in the pan and what was dirt. He’d hate to ruin the seasoning they’d just built up on the pan. He raises it from the soapy water after a moment, giving it a good shake as his eyes track over the dusty-grey surface. Clean as can be. As he finishes, toweling off his hands as he lays the skillet to dry, he turns back to the room behind him.

It’s starting to smell a bit like coffee and a bit like woodfire smoke, the embers of their fireplace and stove fire still filling the room. Etho has tucked himself on the couch, knitted blanket draped over his shoulders and a book open on his folded legs. That was one thing about the desert that Bdubs never got used to—it got cold quickly. The air seeped the heat right out of the ground, right underneath your feet, as soon as the lick of sunshine from the day was gone. Etho had the right idea, curling himself into the smallest spot on their worn couch, blanket drawn tight around him, enough to where only his socked feet poked out. He’d tied his long hair up and away from his face, stark white locks delicately balanced on the top of his head. Bdubs hums as he wanders over.

Etho picks up his head, blinking slowly at him. His gaze seems far away as it pins on him.

“Hi, Etho,” Bdubs says, scrunching up his nose. “You fall asleep on me after dinner?”

“Mm?” Etho questions. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Bdubs snorts. As he stands beside the front of the couch, Etho’s hand comes out, his cold fingers wrapping around Bdubs’ wrist. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound, but lets Etho tug him forward and onto the couch beside him. He was deceptively strong—it was the one thing nobody would guess about him. Well—maybe not the only thing. Etho’s life, much like his own, was so different compared to the docile, almost domestic, ranch life they’d build together. Bdubs sinks into the couch cushions, and not even a beat later, Etho leans his back against his arm. Bdubs’ hum peters into a giggle.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you might me lyin’ to me, Etho.”

“Mm? About what?”

Bdubs shrugs.

“Dunno, you looked pretty dang tired a second ago.”

Etho shakes his head, leaning back a little further. Bdubs gets the message. He shifts around until his leg hooks under Etho’s arm, until Etho can settle back and rest his head and back against Bdubs’ chest. The book rests on Etho’s shins now, all but forgotten as Etho tips his head back to take a look at Bdubs behind him. He seems satisfied with what he sees, because he shuffles to get comfortable.

“I don’t know about that,” Etho drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. Bdubs scoffs. He kisses the top of Etho’s head, hands cupping around his ears to hold his head still. He feels that smile tug at his cheeks a little more and nuzzles his head for good measure.

“Alright,” he placates. “I’ll believe you for now.”

Etho hums, satisfied.

“Good.”

Bdubs lets his hands fall to Etho’s shoulders. As Etho reaches to pick up his book from his lap, Bdubs shifts him a bit more, sitting upright. His hands fall to Etho’s upper back, before he starts to shift his hair, unweaving it from where it had balanced atop his head. Etho seems to pick up on his message, sitting forward a bit as Bdubs begins to comb his fingers through Etho’s white hair.

It’s much longer than it’s ever been, Bdubs thinks—it must be. He doesn’t think it’s ever been past his shoulders when they were together before, and definitely not when Etho was a sheriff. He’d never get away with hair past his shoulders. It was bad enough that he got so many nasty scars from scrapes and threats and whatever people threw at him. Bdubs smooths his hand down the back of his neck, feeling out the base of his skull. It’s painful to think of what Etho had to get through to get here. His hair must be a testimony to that, the fine, white-blond strands reaching to just past his shoulderblades. Bdubs is careful as he weaves his hands through, tucking stray strands behind Etho’s ears, combing back from his widow’s peak to the base of his head.

He was a criminal before he was a sheriff—Bdubs remembers that. He remembers it because he was one, too. Pretty damn good. It was hard, though. Hard on Etho, who was just trying to do something with his life, to put his artistry to work, his craftsmanship. When he finally landed a job, the gang was already falling apart. He wasn’t even the first to leave—someone left for a damn sheriff. And Bdubs had laughed, then. He watched Etho set his hat on Bdubs head and felt those now memorized, strong hands squeeze his shoulders.

He found him again when Etho walked past the tiny 3-by-3 cell Bdubs had managed to worm his way into. Wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes? The fine line of Etho’s jaw cuffed by a high collared marshal's uniform, badge and all, hat pulled low over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to lock himself up in there, but as soon as he was out, he promised Etho he’d never go back. And he never did. He sat himself at the strong wooden desk catty-corner to Etho’s and dispensed justice like he’d never done a wrong deed in his life. They were fair, though. Nothing but fair. No blood but on their teeth or nose or throat. No blood on their hands.

Etho sighs warmly as Bdubs starts to braid his hair. He keeps a firm hold on the strands he weaves in and out of each other, working slowly and carefully as he absorbs himself in thought. He was there for a lot of Etho’s life. But he wasn’t there when Etho got his scar. He only saw it afterwards, during that first time he saw him from that cell.

Etho had described it late one night, after all was said and done between them, their bodies pressed so close in the same, small bed in Etho’s home that there wasn’t a molecule of space left. He’d let Bdubs trace the valleys and ridges of the burnt skin, tucked his face into Bdubs neck to breathe out a wet sigh. Coals and fire—not an accident like Bdubs had always presumed. He’d weaseled himself out of their gang of bandits, but it’s not always that the life of bandits leaves you. He’d messed up an order for another group, he’d said, when he finally got a job as a metalsmith. Too few bullets. It was a lie. He’d known from the shape of the man's mouth as he’d spoken it, but his face found the furnace regardless. Hot ash, coals, smoke in the back of his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been really able to see out of that eye. It hurt to read. It was too blurry to focus.

Now, Bdubs knows, Etho focuses and reads just fine. And Bdubs drags his fingers over his skin like it were any other part of him to touch. And touch he did. Hey! He wasn’t ashamed of himself! He spent a good few years loving this man and he was allowed to love him right and true. Whatever Etho wanted, Etho could have. He’d build him a terracotta and tile ranch house, with darkened oak and stained wood floors, a fireplace big enough to hang a kettle in, horses, cows, dogs, cats, wheatfields tall enough to lose himself in. The rolling hills of the valley were endless. They’d find a homestead, a life, friends, family, anywhere they went. And so they went. And they found the ones they’d loved all along just as they thought they would.

Bdubs cards his fingers through the braided hair for a final time, letting it hang loose and wavy around Etho’s shoulders. He instead maps the rise of his spine with his palm, listening to Etho hum and feeling his heartbeat.

“How’s your book?” Bdubs asks softly. Etho nods.

“Good,” he says, just as quiet. “It’s a real tough read, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Etho leans back into his chest, trying to catch a glimpse at the cover. Etho’s tucked the book under his knee, though. He can’t even peek at the type of book it is.

“Mm?” he says. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhm,” Etho drawls. “I’m real deep into some equations that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s this long complicated thing that’s supposed to help determine scale and size of the fractal-izing of light, and how we can use planetary distances to figure it out.”

Bdubs blinks, scoffing.

“Etho,” he hums.

“I’m trying to figure out how this could be relevant for our growing seasons and how I can best predict rainfall in the valley—”

“Etho—”

“And I’m sure Tango will want to know all about it considering he’s making that huge telescope, don’t you think—”

Bdubs thwaps his head laughing.

“Quit!”

Etho laughs, reaching back to grab at Bdubs hands on his head. They swat uselessly at each other for a moment.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Etho?” Bdubs grumbles.

“You’re just jealous because I understand math,” Etho jeers. “It has nothing to do with how smart I am.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Bdubs huffs. “I bet you read the almanac in your spare time!”

Etho gasps, but the gravitas and dramatic turn he does to worm away from Bdubs is enough to hint that he’s doing it for a reason. He scrambles back, tucking his book behind him as he does. Blue cover. Bdubs doesn’t know many books with a blue cover. Maybe it is the almanac after all.

“How dare you insult my knowledge of flowers, Bdubs!” Etho gasps. “I just know all those things.”

“All those things about the regional weather, too?”

Etho nods, trying to hold back a smile. Liar.

“Mhm,” he says. “All of it. I’ve known it since I was a wee little boy, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he placates. “Nothin’ to do with how we just moved here a year and a half ago, no?”

Etho shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’ve known it all my life,” Etho says. He can’t fight the smile this time, or the way he draws out the a of his word, his smile growing with it. He finally cracks enough to giggle and Bdubs swats his knee. Etho sticks his tongue out at him.

“And what’s the almanac say about me?” Bdubs asks, watching Etho shuffle back into his corner, looking comfortable. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“You?” Etho says. “I don’t know. Nothing—I’ve never read it. I doubt they put people in it.” Then Etho smiles, adding: “I can check my book on 100 facts about B-double-O, though.”

Bdubs startles.

“Your book on what?”

Etho snorts, tipping his head back, laughter bubbling out of him. Bdubs jabs him with his socked foot and Etho curls further into himself, still giggling. Bdubs can’t help but smile, though, watching Etho break into a giggling fit over his stupid comment. He rolls his eyes as he peels himself off the couch and over to their bookshelf. Standing there for a moment, feeling the cold seep slightly into his clothes, Bdubs scans for a book. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for yet, but he’ll know it when he sees it.

In the meantime, he halfway searches for that obviously fake book Etho had mentioned. He snorts, just to himself. A hundred facts, huh?

Plucking one of his well-worn novels from the shelf, Bdubs turns back to the couch. He drops a kiss to the crown of Etho’s head as he passes and Etho is quick enough to pull him down to kiss his cheek. It’s worth it, though, as Bdubs tucks himself back against the other side of the couch and Etho’s legs tangle with his. He loves the stupid smile on Etho’s face too much to care about much else.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitshipping #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #fics #text #mcyt #mcyt fic #help girl how do all my aus start out with ethubs < THIS IS NOT AN AU #NOT ONE THAT I SHOULD CONTINUE THAT IS #green valley au #< haha ignore that #direct shout out to myke and shep who enabled this and also gave several good ideas #like the stupid bdubs book. and the images myke sent. ill and sick i say

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theminecraftbee · 1 year

Text

After forty-five minutes of no word, the three of them finally decide that someone should go check on Tango. Normally, Xisuma would have reluctantly advocated for just starting without him—it’s Tango, he’d probably gotten caught up in Decked Out work, he’d apologize and laugh it off later and wouldn’t change—but he’d seemed so genuinely excited this time. He’d rambled back at them the moment Etho had invited him to join in on the wither-mining. He’d promised he’d try to show up. He’d checked the time more than once.

It’s been a while since most of the hermits had seen Tango outside of his fortress. Or spoken to him for more than about twenty minutes if their name wasn’t “Zedaph”. Or—it’s been a while. That man is working himself to death, Xisuma swears.

(It’s… not Tango’s fault, Xisuma tells himself. He’d meant to have more done by now. The whole Empires fiasco had put a damper on that. Tango’s always been the sort to fixate a little on his latest project. Besides, all of the Hermits get caught up. It’s normal to occasionally go a week or two without talking to anyone else. It’s just that it’s starting to hurt a little, to reach out and get...)

(Xisuma will make up a better excuse. It’s why he volunteered to go check on him. Save Tango and Etho a little heartache.)

(Tango had been really excited—but so had Etho.)

It’s a short enough elytra flight to the Deep Frost Citadel. Xisuma takes a deep breath. He’ll probably have to locate Tango and convince him to come up from the outside. That place is a death trap already to half the server, and Tango’s normally in the maintenance tunnels instead of the main body of the cave, which are a death trap in a unique “largely unfit for habitation by anything breathing” way that Tango seems to be the only one who knows how to navigate. He’ll make sure he’s okay, and then…

Xisuma‘a thoughts come to a pause as he approaches. There’s someone else at the Citadel, standing near the base of the hill, just past where the borders of Tango’s snowy base fade into the grassland.

A few minutes of approach later, and it becomes clear it’s Tango. He’s standing oddly, his feet braced and arms unsteadily placed forward like he’s worried he might fall. When Xisuma lights another rocket, he looks up in Xisuma’s direction, but before really catching sight of Xisuma, he turns around and winces, rubbing his eyes repeatedly.

“Hello,” Xisuma says as he lands. Tango turns to—not quite look at him? Tango is looking in the direction of Xisuma, certainly, but isn’t quite looking at Xisuma’s face. Maybe there’s too much glare in Xisuma’s visor today?

“Oh, hey X! How’s it hangin’?” Tango says.

“Oh, you know, I was just here to check on you. You’re a bit late to our demonstration.”

“What?” Tango says. “It’s—of course it has.”

“Did you get caught up?” Xisuma asks. He tries very hard not to sound disappointed.

“I—yeah,” Tango says. “Sorry, I swear I set an alarm, but if you’re here I must be later than I thought.”

“Probably nearly an hour by now.”

“I’ve been—a whole hour? Feels like longer,” mumbles Tango.

“The others agreed to wait if you’re coming, and you’re already outside,” Xisuma says. “We can get over there in a few minutes. It’s not too late. Put on your elytra and—“

“No!” yelps Tango, stepping back, stumbling, and then, eyes wide, looking around like he’s trying to find something. “I mean, uh. Not used to open-air flying right now. I was planning on taking the nether but I ran out of fireproof potions and don’t have the blaze rods to make more, so here I am. I promise I didn’t mean to be late, I just…”

Xisuma has no idea where to start. But. “Tango, you built the nether hub? You know you don’t need fireproof potions to get to the Ancient City we’re using.”

“Haha, yeah,” Tango says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“So I guess you were going to the shopping district, to get more blaze rods and their portal?” Xisuma says.

“Yeah, uh, then I realized I, uh, don’t. Remember how to get there,” Tango says. “And, well, you know how it is. Even when you have permission to leave it’s still kind of daunting!”

His voice goes high and a little squeaky. His eyes, Xisuma realizes, have had a sort of wild fear to them since Xisuma first suggested stepping further than where he’s standing. If Tango had pupils, Xisuma imagines they’d probably be darting. The rest of his facial expression does the work well enough.

Xisuma really doesn’t know where to start.

“And you’ve been stuck here for… nearly an hour?” Xisuma says.

“Yeah. Man, I got permission to leave and everything,” Tango says again, which, okay, very concerning phrasing, Xisuma’s just going to put that away for the time being though, because there are a lot of other things to unpack here. “And like, I wanted to see the Withers and a Warden fight! Who would win, right?”

He still hasn’t moved. As Xisuma’s talked, he’s gotten closer to looking Xisuma in the eyes, but it’s more like he’s very confidently looking at Xisuma’s chin. He keeps squinting and blinking when his eyes aren’t wide with a wild, lost sort of panic.

He’s also still rambling.

“Probably for the best I don’t leave, though. I mean, I held you all up, I’d hate to hold it up further because I got caught up. I can just go back; best to keep doing my duty after all. Sorry about that!”

Tango turns back towards his base, as though making that excuse was the excuse he needed to go back towards safer ground. Maybe another time, Xisuma would have let that be, but the thing is, Tango and Etho had both been so excited, and Xisuma can hear the disappointment in Tango’s voice. He doesn’t want to be making this excuse either. Xisuma has no idea what, but something’s wrong.

(Well, Xisuma has some idea, but while he may be a derp, he’s pretty sure it’s rude to ask someone whether they’ve gone blind, developed agoraphobia, gotten possessed, or multiple of those things at the same time. If someone doesn’t bring it up it’s not Xisuma’s business, right? Right.)

(He’ll just…)

“…no, we want to do this with you,” Xisuma says. “Do you need help getting to the cave we’re doing it in?”

Xisuma can see Tango warring between the pride that stops him from asking for help and whatever it is that had paralyzed him the moment he’d tried to step past his base’s borders. He can see Tango war between how easy it would be to claim he didn’t have time and how much he’d wanted to see the wither mining.

“It’s all going to be underground?” he says.

Weird question. File that away. “Yep! Inside an ancient city!”

“And I got permission to leave,” mutters Tango. “So it’s going to be fine once I actually get there.”

“I can even grab some fireproof potions from Cub’s shop when we’re done,” wheedles Xisuma.

“…fine. Lead the way. Uh, and, if you could hold my hand. It’s… very hard to know where I am outside of my base when it’s so bright,” Tango says, voice a little small, and okay, so a mix of all three. Xisuma really should pry, but he’s got what he came here for, and it’s not really his business, is it? He’s sure Tango’ll work it out in the end. He’s a smart guy.

“Gladly, my friend. Let’s go die to withers sixty times.”

Tango laughs shakily. “Yes, let’s!”

Xisuma laces his fingers around Tango’s hand and, suddenly aware of just how many things there are to trip on, starts walking towards the Ancient City.

Gosh, but this is going to take an hour, isn’t it? He sighs and pulls out his messenger to tell the other two. A thought strikes him.

“You know, next time you have this problem, you should text ahead. You can use text-to-speech, you know.”

Tango barks a laugh, louder this time. “Yeah, sure, that’s going to be on my mind. Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Well, good enough for Xisuma!

They make their way to the Ancient City together.

#hermitcraft #tango tek #xisumavoid #a bee fic #had this idea stuck in my head since I watched this episode yesterday #anyway Xisuma’s right it’s a mix of ‘base is eating him so he normally can’t leave’#’no longer has effective daylight vision and it’s kind of painful’#and yeah a bit of agoraphobia #once he’s in the ancient city for the record he’s fine and has a grand old time and the other two don’t even know somethings wrong #xisuma meanwhile (king of minding his own business) just Says Nothing At All #and tango gets home through the nether with heat resistance for his little ice problem #sure THAT won’t continue to be a problem or anything!#also for the record zed is aware tango’s weird but also has No Room To Talk so is just being a supportive friend #anyway once again. At SOME POINT I go into more detail on ‘the base is eating him’#but not today!

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teddybearsandspaceships · 3 months

Text

For my own memory, in the hopes that Scar will put yesterday´s stream on his VODs channel because it was amazing and featured among other things:

Scar calling Etho “the Maple Prince”

Xisuma trolling Scar by mixing up Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Harry Potter

Mumbo showing Scar the llama death chamber, and Scar praising him for being weird

Scar and Mumbo having a conversation about social media and AI

Scar telling Etho not to worry and that he´s thinking about moving the mail box himself (after all he had two best-selling redstone shops so surely he´s qualified!); Etho: well now I´m worried… But right afterwards Etho says people forget that Scar is actually quite skilled at the game

Etho is just interrupting people today and Scar suggests just collecting people to procrastinate

I approve of Scar encouraging Etho to participate in MCC again

Etho asking how Scar got stamps already, Scar saying he´s been a part of a lot of Life series, Etho: “you and your wily words, you can get anything you want…”

Big Salmon decreed mercury = good

Cleo shows up! “lag busting” is the new “it lagged into my inventory”

Scar definitely not encouraging Cleo to kill all other villagers after setting up her own trading hall. Cleo wants organic free range villagers.

Cleo trying to sell the monstrosolith as a giant billboard

Cleo proved she can do valley girl voice, Scar and Etho are shocked. Then they´re discussing what "no cap" means. (Etho on stream: “big true, no cap.”) They talked about poggers, and Scar going wild with his pants off (after Cleo exploded them), and Etho didn´t know what Stitch is.

Scar starts talking about Disney and it takes him a minute to realize Cleo and Etho have run away

More maple syrup discussion (Etho telling Cleo if she likes the brand she gets it´s fine), and a frantic ride-by and log-out by Grian

Cleo and Scar want to start a cult. Etho wants to be a frat instead, something cooler. Frats have fewer rules, they´re more like “pants off, it´s fine.” Scar says he´d ask too many questions to be in a cult, Etho points out he could be cult leader. Cleo immediately offers to be his second, the person who does all the dirty work.

Shoe talk. Scar shows off his twelve-year-old shoes on stream.

Making fun of Etho´s set-up! Scar is horrified. Etho talks about his Kleenex box where his mike stands. It matches his desk! It has his settings written on it! Also his space bar broke during DO2 but he got used to it. Scar decides they need reinforcements and calls Bdubs over. Ren also shows up.

Etho mentions he didn´t get a Decked Out 2 desk mat (took to long to think about it) and Tango logs in to write in chat that he´s disappointed and logs out again

A wild Iskall approaches in the distance. Etho: trident brother!

Etho invented the minecart shuffle

Cleo: "I always want you to kill people, Scar. ...no not Etho."

And Etho leaves to shuffle snow like the Canadian cryptid he is

(how dare Ren interrupt Bdubs before he can give his current opinion on the kleenex box)

"Etho´s not one to lie" (are you sure about that? ^^)

...I look away for two seconds and did Mumbo just call himself a panda in chat. I was later told: a panda fiat! Which is a car, and Iskall is a Ferrari

Moonlanding with Gem! And some talk about bases and criticism. Gem: "I love making Etho mad," “Let Etho be mad,” What´s he gonna do, all he´s gonna do is go oh snappers ^^ "Scar, you are my Etho"

#hermitcraft #hc s10 #hermitcraft streams #gtwscar #...how did this get so long #well it was a four and a half hours stream

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welcome-back-to-hoimycraf · 2 months

Text

Thankfully, Gem awoke to a much nicer scene this morning.

It was early enough for the sun to still be rising when a soft knock rang through the house. She sat up groggily, rubbing at her eyes in an attempt to bring some energy to her mind. Last night was exhausting . She couldn’t imagine being one of the people to deal with Grian, the poor souls.

She, at the very least, had some semblance of an idea for the bafflement they felt, but that was likely not even the tip of the iceberg. Gem let it slip from her mind. He’s not her problem anymore- she’d seen weirder things than him before.

The knocking came back again, slightly louder this time.

Gem groaned in a rather childish manner. She didn’t want to get up, but she supposed that wasn’t really her choice. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered, more to herself than the person at the door, as she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She scarcely bothered to throw on a robe over her pajamas and step into her slippers before heading down. Whoever decided to bother her could deal with the consequences of waking her up so early- namely, her bedhead.

This “whoever” turned out to be quite a welcome sight. Sparkling blue eyes and a beaming smile greeted her on the other side, quickly being obscured as the person in question leaned forward to tip her hat at Gem.

"Well, mornin', Miss Gem!" he chuckled warmly, a sound that always brought a smile to the lighthouse keeper’s face. “Took you long enough to let me in- I was freezing’ out here!”

Gem rolled her eyes, stepping to the side to let the other in, which she happily obliged with a pep in his step. "When will you stop acting like you don't know me? You know you’re always welcome to drag me out of bed."

Pearl turned back to where Gem was closing the door behind her, pressing a quick peck to her cheek. "Oh, you know I'm just picking.” She giggled at Gem’s flushed face. “Always gotta mess with my favorite person!”

Gem rolled her eyes, heading over to the stove squeezed into her small kitchen area. She started up their usual routine of breakfast and chat, whenever they had the chance to follow it. Her and Pearl’s schedules were constantly at war with each other, making it a task and a half to spend time together- something Gem hadn’t realized she’d been lacking.

Eggs sizzled as they fell into the hot pan, complementing Pearl’s humming from her spot leaning against the counter. This was nice; a domestic break from the hustle and bustle they were so used to.

"You seen the new guy yet?" Gem eventually broke the silence, glancing out the window behind her to where Grian had set up on the beach across the river. He’d claimed the spot as his not long after he had washed up in town, or, at least, she assumed so when she had spotted him casting out his line as she prepared to crawl back in bed.

"Yeah!” Pearl snapped his fingers as his eyes widened with the memory. “Heard some commotion last night and wondered what was up. Wasn't able to figure anything out, though," she conceded.

Gem hummed in acknowledgement. "He washed up last night,” she supplied. “Miraculously, he's still alive. Never seen someone get away from the rocks with barely a scratch," she laughed- though her unease was hardly hidden. What was so different about him that the ocean would spare him so easily?

Pearl shrugged, not seeming to notice Gem’s worry. "Maybe he's just lucky," he suggested.

"Maybe." A silence passed over them, though it was over as soon as it started, their food finishing up and ready to be plated. It wasn’t much, only eggs and toast, but neither of them cared all that much about what they were eating. The two simply enjoyed each other’s company, more so than anything else.

They moved through breakfast, Pearl raving about the new mail system Tango and Etho were working on. Apparently, it would halve the time to deliver across town, which the Postmaster seemed both stoked and disappointed about. She really never works a day in her life, huh?

Gem listened intently as her partner spoke, even if she doesn’t quite understand what he’s talking about- though she has a sneaking suspicion Pearl doesn’t know that much either.

It wasn’t long before their plates held nothing but crumbs and the clock let Pearl know it was time to bid adieu. The two said their goodbyes with a brief kiss before Gem waved Pearl off as he headed out to deliver the mail. She made quick work of their mess, even taking the time to wash their dishes- a feat she almost never took up until much later than she probably should. With her hands forearm-deep in the soapy water, her mind began to wander with the menial task, leading to her eyes catching the man she already knew all too well across the way.

Grian was still fishing. It looked like he hadn’t moved since she’d seen him the first time, which wouldn’t surprise her. Though, as she watched, she noticed him pull something strange from the depths. Gem squinted, and was able to make out what looked like a book. Even stranger, the man became visibly excited, snatching the volume from his hook hastily and wasting no time to throw it open. He seemed to scan through it frantically before his shoulders drooped. He snapped the cover shut and tossed it back to the sea without a second thought, settling back down to pick his rod up once more.

Gem dried her hands as she finished. She hoped he would find whatever he’s looking for.

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#fanfic #my fanfic #hermitfic #hermitcraft #hermitcraft 10 #hermitshipping #gempearl #shiny duo #grian #geminitay #pearlescentmoon

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frozenjokes · 2 months

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Rage Room (I’m Loving A Losing Battle, But I Can’t Quite Seem To Let Go)

in which aromantic scar finally tells his friends what’s been happening between him and Grian, and how he processes the space between them

“It’s just- not fair!” Scar smashed the bottle against the tile floor, the glass pelting the ankles of his reinforced pants.

Bdubs clapped behind him, though stopped when Scar turned around, visibly not in the mood. Admittedly he knew he was shooting low when he went on, but Scar didn’t care, “And I’m kind of pissed off about Etho! If the roles were switched, I would be there, and he said he’d be here last time he missed.”

“Oi,” Cleo cut in, about as unamused as Scar figured they’d be. “No friendly fire.”

“Is it really friendly fire if he’s not here.” Scar huffed, but Cleo knew better than to take his words at face value, and shut him up with a firm glare.

“And you better start talking before I make you pay for all of this.” Her words were rugged, but Scar knew she didn’t mean it, and he could take as much time as he needed. But really, if he was taking shots at Bdubs, he probably should cut to the chase. This was why they were here. This was why they had all made this pact in the first place.

“Grian is.” Scar started, stilted, “Sorry, Bdubs. I shouldn’t have said that. Grian won’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t- want to talk to me.”

“What?” Bdubs said, eyes flying open, and yeah, no one here was really caught up with his whole.. situation. Anything that felt close to Mumbo he tended to avoid, and basically everything about Grian in the past weeks was Mumbo adjacent.. and also a little sensitive. Not something he was eager to talk about. Scar was more than a little pent up, and based on the expressions of concern across Cleo and Bdubs’ faces, it must have been pretty obvious. “Weren’t you guys hanging out nearly everyday for- I don’t know, it’s been a month at least, right? Did something happen? Hasn’t Grian been driving you around everywhere, too? You’ve sure been asking me a lot less.”

“Yeah. We were.” Scar spoke stiffly, picking up another empty bottle and spinning it in his hands. He chucked it at the wall, aiming at the newly set up targets Cleo had implemented a couple weeks ago. A good choice. Fit with the theme of the axe throwing/rage room combo. The bottle shattered near the bullseye, unsurprising, given their whole friend group had pretty tight aim. Still satisfying. “Until he went and fell in love with me.”

The memories burned like open wounds, like red, angry flesh, like sunburns on your eyelids, like the stinging smell of bleach. Cleo said something, some sort of assent, but Scar didn’t hear it, smashing two more bottles for release, though he didn’t feel any less like his ribs had been torn from his chest, hanging limply on hooks, dripping on his face from his place on the cold ground, bleeding out, dying, but never quickly enough.

“I don’t like labels, alright, you all know this, but Grian says aromantic, and that works for now, because I don’t love him like he loves me and that’s fine. That’s fine! That. Is. Fine.” Scar took a bat, needing something bigger, needing more release, and the old TV would work just fine, “And you know how I feel about dating. I like it. I like to get to know strangers, I like to feel things out, and I like to be close! But you know who I don’t like to date?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Scar swung his bat, splitting the TV screen with a satisfying crack. “Friends. Good friends. Friends that mean a lot, friends that I can’t afford to lose when everything goes to shit.”

Scar hit the TV a couple more times, physically battling away distress, “I was so afraid when he brought it up- dating. I was so afraid. I couldn’t just date Grian, because it would end and I would lose him and maybe he’d say we could still be friends and I would say yes! Yes, please, please can we still be friends, and he would say that’s okay, and then two weeks later he’d slam me with a message about ‘needing space’ and ‘not wanting to talk for a while’ and suddenly, suddenly my heart’s being ripped out of my chest and stomped on, but it would be fine, right? It would be fine, because after he’s taken his time, we could be friends again, and things could return to normal. No!” The TV was hardly satisfying to hit anymore, reduced to shattered glass and warped plastic under Scar’s assault.

“It never just. Goes back to normal. You try, and you try and you try, but they just can’t do it, they just can’t love you anymore, and suddenly your best friend is slipping away and there’s fucking nothing you can do about it. Because you dated them. Because you took things ‘to the next level,’ because you made something volatile without even knowing, and the next thing you know, it’s blown up in your face, and you’ve been completely blindsided again.” Scar’s arms shook, and gently, from behind, Cleo laid a hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm to take the bat he was gripping so tightly. Scar let go when they touched his hands, but his teeth remained locked, grinding near painfully.

“Deep breaths, Scar. Breathe with me. Let me count for you,” and Cleo did, counting to five and back again, forcing Scar to take a step back. Scar wasn’t someone who particularly valued meditation or breathing; it was often too difficult to focus, especially alone, and he was easily frustrated knowing how he should be feeling, but Cleo had a way of grounding him, and when Bdubs was doing the same exercises at his side, Scar didn’t feel so stupid. And it did help. Fives minutes to breathe really did wonders sometimes; it was a shame Scar couldn’t quite manage to utilize the tool as effectively when he was alone. Not that he ever remembered to try.

And now it was quiet, and Scar was so vulnerable, and there was no more anger to hide behind, because it was all just sadness, stiff and aching so impossibly deep.

“I thought if we didn’t.. date.. I thought things could just be normal. That nothing would change. But every awful thing just got expedited- he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to talk to me- he needs space, he said he needed space, but I know what that means now.” Scar had to sit down, and Bdubs joined him, Cleo standing close by. “I feel so helpless. And it didn’t even matter. I just wish I knew so badly, so I could have said yes, so at least we might have had a chance before it all went to shit. I could keep my friend a little bit longer. I wish I understood how he felt. I wish I felt what he felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.” Scar let his head drop to his hands, voice muffled under his palms, “I just kinda hate myself sometimes.”

Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, a question of touch, and one that Scar accepted with closed eyes. “It would still be hard, Scar. I can promise you that. If this isn’t what you want to hear right now, then you can let me know, but I have to think Grian and your other exes of the past who you haven’t kept in contact with were and are just as torn up as you. Maybe they need to let go for themselves, but I can tell you from personal experience, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make you miss them any less.”

“But when people leave me, it’s always because in some way, their lives would be better without me,” Scar felt like wailing, but in reality, his speech was far more soft, “And my life is always worse. It’s always worse. Like I’m just a plague on my friends, and I have no idea how to fix myself to keep this from happening.”

Bdubs squeezed his hand to get his attention, and Scar knew what was coming, he just couldn’t love himself right now.

“There’s nothing to fix, Scar. You’re one of the most delightful people I know, and I mean that. The way you navigate the world is inspiring.”

“Just doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Cleo said, something faraway about the words, “You just should know, that’s all. How we feel.”

“I just wish I was normal.”

“I don’t,” Bdubs snorted, something so passionately reactionary, Cleo laughed, and Bdubs himself looked a bit surprised by his own words, then a tad embarrassed, “I mean, come on. You’re a complete monster, and I love it. I love how comfortable you are about touch, I love how physical you are, and I love how normal you make it feel. Sometimes I want to fall asleep on my friends’ shoulder, or hold hands, or just be held, you know? And no one does it like you, Scar, no one. I think everyone ought to take a couple pages from your book.”

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but it wasn’t the type of thing you argued about. You just had to accept it. In all honesty, having people to love him when he couldn’t manage it himself felt indescribably secure. Like a heated blanket wrapped tightly over his shoulders when he was so, so cold. But he couldn’t acknowledge it either, not when he couldn’t breathe the words. So he let it hang, hoping he’d remember to say something later. He knew he would. For now, Scar dodged around the words, stuck in his own raw truth.

“I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I know,” Cleo kept their hand on his shoulder, and Scar wanted to cry.

“And I- Okay, so I can’t really talk about this.. NDAs and such, but I was working on something with someone- something cool, all three of us, Grian included. And at the same time Grian.. cut contact.. I haven’t been able to reach this other uh- colleague, and I don’t know what happened! I don’t know anything, and I have no way of contacting this other guy, and Grian doesn’t know either, and I was so excited, but it just feels like everything is falling apart around me. And- and don’t be mean about the other guy, please, it’s not his fault.” Cleo looked quite skeptical about that, but a pleading look from Scar was enough to get her to leave well enough alone, “I just wish I knew why. Or if he was coming back. Might not have been able to communicate that anyway though, there’s a bit of a language barrier.”

“Can’t use google translate?” Bdubs asked, and Scar couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped his throat.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he mumbled, which was enough to get Bdubs to let it go. Cleo didn’t look happy, but she didn’t push either.

“That fucking sucks,” she said instead, and Scar laughed in earnest, along with Bdubs, the entire air feeling just a little bit lighter.

“It does,” Scar sighed, resting a cheek on his fist, “Guess I have to find something new to throw myself into. I just really wanted this. I really wanted this.”

There was a long silence, Scar having nothing else to say, and his friends in a similar boat. There wasn’t much to say. They knew. Scar knew they understood. But there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing that could make this any less horrible. But Bdubs did perk up after a minute, catching Scar and Cleo’s attention

“We could go skiing!” Bdubs suggested, to a chorus of groans from Scar and Cleo. Bdubs huffed, affronted as he crossed his arms, “You two need to live a little. Even if you suck, you’re both exhausted by the end of the day, which would do Scar some good in my opinion, and I know you’d be able to take the time off for an impromptu trip.”

“I don’t even think you like skiing,” Cleo rolled their eyes, a laugh under her voice, “You went on one trail ride in those mountains and it changed your life, that’s what. There are no wild horses out there, Bdubs, the guide lied to you.”

“She did not lie! There are horses, and they’re going to see me and know.”

“Know.. what, exactly?” Scar teased, and Bdubs puffed up, as if this was the most blasphemous question Scar could have asked.

“They will just know. And anyway, Etho believes there’s horses out there too, he does, and he wants to see them just as much.”

“Pretty sure Etho is also fucking with you,” Cleo said, smug, and Bdubs gasped.

“Never!” But something stopped him from ranting on; a short pause, a bit of uncertainty. A guilty glance in Scar’s direction. “I’m really sorry he’s not here. I told him- I don’t know. He said something came up last minute and wouldn’t explain. I’m not happy with him either- quite frankly, I’m embarrassed.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Scar rubbed his neck, frowning, “It doesn’t really bother me much, Bdubs. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s fine if it bothers you! It bothers me! And you’re right, he’s not here, so I think a little friendly fire is well deserved,” Bdubs paused, eying one of the few bottles that were left, “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Bdubs snatched at a bottle, flipping it in his hand, nearly dropping it trying to look cool, then whipping it at the target across the room, the entire thing smashing right on the bullseye.

“Oh, score!” Scar smiled, and Bdubs pumped his fist.

“Yes! You know, I already feel better. This is great, Cleo, have I told you this is great?”

Cleo looked pleased, exactly the cat who got the cream, “You have. And I know. So how about you boys throw back a couple beers to replace these bottles, and we do a little axe throwing.”

“Are you paying?” Scar asked, hopeful, innocent, but Cleo snorted, shaking her head.

“Uh, no. Don’t let that hold you back, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Bdubs whined, but not without his signature grin, “What’s the point of free rage room therapy hour if it’s not all free?”

“I’m not going to make you pay for the axe throwing either, and that is not included in our little deal, so the least you can do is drink.”

“You can’t make us pay to axe throw with you because we all know you’re going to whoop our asses,” Scar shot back in fake accusation, but Cleo shrugged, a crooked smile across her lips.

“You have fun.”

“I do,” Bdubs assented, earning a sharp jab from Scar’s elbow.

“We don’t! Unless you buy us each a beer, then we do.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Okay fine,” Scar sighed, fully intending on a large tip regardless, since despite her sharp tongue, Cleo would still refuse any sort of compensation for an outing like this, “But you also have to drink.”

Cleo scoffed, the smile never leaving their face. “Who do you think I am?”

***

It was fun. Of course it was fun. Scar lost pretty miserably in nearly every round, though that could be accurately attributed to the fact he was more than a little tipsy, and Bdubs, always spying an opportunity to get an edge, took full advantage. Though, to his credit, Bdubs was having a great day in general, overtaking Cleo in score multiple times, and even winning one or two games. A feat, even against an inebriated Cleo, which, in all honesty, was pretty much the only way Scar or Bdubs could ever surpass her. Etho.. It was safe to say Etho had little talent for the sport. Didn’t matter how much instruction he got, he was nothing short of miserable every time all four of them got together to play. Actually, out of the four of them, Etho was probably the only person who improved when he was drunk, which was always hilarious to see. You’ve never seen a fire lit under someone’s ass like you did when Etho managed to squeak ahead of Bdubs or Scar, the cackling of Cleo only furthering their panic.

Scar did wish Etho was here. He wished he wasn’t so flakey sometimes.

Regardless, when they were done, Bdubs was only two steps away from sober and plenty able to drive. Scar was relieved to have to ride, and even more so that he hadn’t brought his own car in the first place. It was a nice drive home, anything but quiet, and really, just what Scar needed. The less time he spent alone with his own thoughts, the better. Though, after such a nice evening, tonight was going to be a little easier.

Thanking Bdubs for the ride, Scar stepped out onto the cobblestones once they reached his apartment, taking a deep breath before going inside. It was okay. He was going to be okay.

But there was one little habit he had developed, a little something he couldn’t quite shake despite knowing it wasn’t doing him many favors. It had only been a week since Mumbo had disappeared, but Scar refused to miss it if the mermaid ever did return- he couldn’t, even if Grian wouldn’t be in the picture anymore. This still meant something. Scar wasn’t about to give it up so easily.

The trail cams were still open on his monitors when he sat at his desk. Of course they were. Scar never closed them.

So there he sat, chin in his hands, eyes glazed as he watched every angle of that little cove. The trees, waving gently in the breeze. The sand, shifting ever so slightly in the presence of bugs and crabs. But mostly he watched the water. Scar never stopped watching the water.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #grian #mumbo jumbo #bdubs #bdouble0 #bdoubleo100 #mumbomaid au #zombiecleo #etho #ethoslab

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