My piece for @hermitzine 9! The writing excerpts in this piece were done by the fabulous @melsrainpod who took the time to hand write and scan them.
I’m so proud of team P as well as all the other writers and artists featured in the zine! Hope you take the time to check it out :)
I wrote another thing, this time PET postal my beloved <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Something I wrote while watching Pearl play an absolutely absurd amount of Hungry Hermits today, based on Tango's opening stream from Sunday!
Pairing: Etho/Pearl/Tango
Summary: It is the opening night of Hungry Hermits and Tango can be quite harsh on himself, when stuff doesn't go as he hoped it would. Thankfully Etho and Pearl are there for him.
I made Team PET minecraft skins for @pebbleeteaa's Stardew Valley AU! I had a lot of fun making these, and will probably make more in the future because the designs are just sooooo good.
Download files and closeups available under the cut, please leave a comment if you decide to use any of these :]
gift for @di-diwata as part of @mcyt-winter-of-mf!
Fandom: Hermitcraft
Words: 3,661
Rating: General, No Warnings
Characters: Pearl/Etho/Tango, Pearl&Etho&Tango
Additional Tags: Post-Apocalypse, Modern with Magic, Slice of Life, Casual Affection, Hypno and xB are mentioned
Summary: Pearl, Etho and Tango are off in a delivery expedition, and as usual, the night offers some interesting things to them. This time, in the form of a familiar storm and an odd gas station.
[fic under the cut]
“Y’know what I can’t believe?”
Etho glances at the rear-view mirror, Pearl twists and perches her arm over her seat; both of them looking at Tango with open curiosity.
“xB and Hypno,” Tango starts, playful hums on his lips as he carefully makes his way to the front, pushing up the folded middle seat. “They– I can’t believe they live together now. I thought they would never find each other after the whole—” He gestured vaguely with his hand, though they all knew without explicit highlight; still, a soft buzz from his prosthetic made Etho perk up and pay attention. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Pearl smiles, resting her cheek on her arm as she looks at Tango with a certain sparkle in her eyes. “How so, Tango? What do you mean by that, huh?” Tango looks at her with little suspicion, a little squint in his eyes to Pearl’s delighted crinkle. “Everyone knows they have been looking for each other since forever, and you are surprised that they found each other and now live together?”
Tango stutters, words coming out in that broken, endearing Tango-way. Pearl giggles. Etho just smiles under his mask, eyes flicking from the mirror to the darkness illuminated in front of him.
While Tango fumbles to explain why two people—who clearly care for each other and went through one end of the world to the other to find each other—would live together, with Pearl seamlessly breaking his argument, Etho refocuses on the world outside of them.
Two hours have passed by since midnight, which is not a lot considering they still had another twenty-two hours on the road, but it does make Etho wonder. They will be passing by Skyhigh settlement, and just a little further live Hypno and xB—which explains Tango’s sudden topic of conversation, he supposes. Though a bit of a detour, which added an hour to their original time, they already made plans to pick up some inventory from Skyhigh and drive it to them—still, a good seven to eight hours until then, which will be morning by then.
Sunny, hopefully. Anything that will give them more vision than the van’s headlights.
They should probably make a stop in Skyhigh for a quick van check-up, he notes mentally before joining the conversation, now about Hypno and xB possibly moving closer to Hermit. Hypotheticals from both, but a general consensus that it will be good for them, and very likely safer than being out there with a stranger settlement. Friends, he thinks to add but Pearl gets ahead of him.
“Plus, I’m sure Xisuma and the others miss them a lot. How long has it been? Four, five years? That’s a long time to not see your friends.”
“And Beef!” Etho adds, a small giggle at the end, almost proud to have finally joined the conversation.
“It’ll be a big move,” Tango hums, more to himself, probably thinking about the logistics of the move. Truth be told, the last time they saw the pair was seven months ago—and as they know, that is a long time to settle down and carve a space in the world for themselves. “They have many things,” he continues, fighting off a hum at the end of his words to not drift off into solo thoughts, “maybe they’ll want to leave it all behind? At Skyhigh, or something. Heh, maybe make it a summer home.”
“With bandits going around?” Etho points out.
And Tango only smiles, wide and bright, “With bandits going around.”
The light air between them breaks for a moment, halting future conversation with the awareness of exhaustion. A simple yawn, from Pearl as she cuddles up into the crook of her arm, eyes fluttering close into peaceful rest. Her expression is relaxed with a smile, a couple strands gently gliding down her face, though she does not bother to fix it.
“It’s late,” Etho says, like it is not obvious to everyone, “you two should catch up on sleep now. We can’t all sleep in the morning.”
There is a light teasing tone in his words, ending with a small laugh that the other two reciprocate. He casts a look to his side to see Pearl beginning to curl up on her seat, looking incredibly small despite her long and slender figure. Behind them, Tango also breaks with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head, then slowly folding them behind him, sighing as he rolls his head and shoulders. Etho spares him a glance too, an amused smile on his lips under his mask at how easily they trigger each other’s states.
He holds back a yawn of his own, of course.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right,” Tango muses, rocking slightly on his seat. “We’ll be off, then.”
Pearl hums, a smile forever on her lips as she sways standing up—Etho slows the van some, though he doubts either of them can tell the difference as they bump their way around. Not too far back, just where Tango was sitting. Clumsily, they slide the spare back-seats behind the front seats, opening up the middle space to unlatch the folded-into-the-walls beds. Slowly easing them down before pulling in together to make a full bed. Through the mirror, Etho can see the sheets and bedding are still a mess—he rarely remembers the last time they actually made the bed, despite Pearl’s intentionally-feeble insistence.
The pair try to crawl into bed, though it just looks like dragging themselves into position once their bodies touch the sheets. Tango lays on his back, half sprawled under the blankets while Pearl lays on her side, curled up into Tango’s side to hug him. They fall into pieces together, almost out the second they tuck themselves into bed. Breathing slowly from the get-go, chests raising and falling in tandem, at peace, almost mesmerizing to watch even through the mirror.
Etho smiles under his mask, then sighs, slumping back onto his seat now that he can drop the persona. He relaxes, though he never eases his hold on the steering wheel, but he does let his eyes drift ahead of him. To the sides, where there is darkness for miles and miles—he thinks about the packages in the back, rattling together in the trailer. He daydreams a little, throwing random scenarios into his mind to watch them play out—with nothing else to do, he allows himself the chance.
Before he can settle on anything, a quiet, sleepy voice makes him perk up.
“G’night, Etho,” Pearl says, softly. Gently. Tanks of affection behind a simple phrase, a tone of voice he is already accustomed to.
He replies in kind, “Sleep tight, Pearl.”
There is some rustling behind him, of sheets and bodies adjusting, weight and pressure being let go. Then easily, slowly, everything stops and the breathing continues—peaceful, safe. Etho gives it a couple more minutes before he accelerates, back to their usual speed down the empty highway. He slouches, dropping his hands to the bottom of the wheel, irresponsible despite being in charge of keeping Pearl and Tango safe.
The most important people in his life—just two, which is plenty enough in his books. Sure, he cares about more than two people; and sure, there are more people he cares about, but level of importance?
Not very hard to tell apart.
Still, he sighs, turns his head to the sides, wondering how much longer he could go before pulling to a stop to crawl over, joining the pile of limbs and sheets. Tempting, very, but the sooner they get the delivery done, the sooner they get to do, well, nothing. He flicks through the calendar in his mind, through the mental notes, half-heartedly swiping away the potential jobs, ending with an empty time block. He thinks about the things they could do, the places to visit—not very far, in their current situation, but maybe they could take their bikes and some resources, ride a bit far from the Hermit settlement and just be by themselves. Not quite getting back in touch with nature, with all the undead and infected and sculk going around, but some time apart from the whole community—time away for themselves, even though these deliveries technically fall under time away.
“It’s nice to get away.” Etho remembers Tango saying once, sitting on the edge of the van’s trailer after the people unloaded their new fabrics and sacks of grains, while they waited for the exchange items—Tango kicking his legs and grinning wide when Pearl joined him. “Getting bored of the same route, though. Any chance for detours?”
And then, Pearl had rocked to the side, bumping their shoulders, giggly—Etho watched them, fondness in his eyes and hidden under his mask; he still looks at them the same, months and years since. “Maybe we should join the clean up crew,” she giggles, even more when Tango makes a face, sticking his tongue out in disgust.
“And get in the middle of that yucky stuff?”
Pearl and Etho had burst out laughing, while Tango gagged. They did not talk about it more the rest of the day, but the conversation had stayed in Etho’s mind, and theirs, because they would occasionally bring it up only to go in a round-about or a dead-end.
Still, Etho fixates on Tango’s arm, bones and flesh, bleeding red inside. Not quite the same now—pale skin replaced with a golden case, and hisses where crackling bones should be. He tries to not think about it, and he tries to not think about the world outside. The consequences, the things they lose—he re-focuses on their breathing, in tandem, and he wills his heart to follow them. At peace, safe, together.
Etho coughs before straightening, fixing his mask—briefly, he considers taking it off, but he looks into the darkness and decides against it.
Nothing out there needs to know what his face looks like.
So they go on, Etho at the wheel while the other two rest behind him. The seconds forming minutes, gathering to become hours—his eyes flick between the road and the digital clock on the dashboard, cringing between blinks. Surely time must be passing, even if the clock says otherwise. Hours, a handful of them should have gone; he feels it on his bones, exhaustion dragging him down the seat and seeping into his bones, but the clock marks only twenty-five past four, which is nowhere near enough time.
Not right. Much like the dimming headlights and the darkness slowly creeping in.
Etho jumps up straight, hesitating between slowing or accelerating, fixated on the road ahead rather than the edges of his vision. But he knows it, how it looks, how the shadows eat the corners of his vision, propagating inwards on the windshield. Like hands and vines, crawling and reaching, covering every inch of the glass to dim the few lights.
The road outside stretches for miles, no landmark in sign, and no clear signs of their speed. His eyes fall onto the dash, flickering between the darkening outside and his speed—faced with stillness, everything frozen, unsure if they are moving or not. If he is speeding or not.
He hopes they are.
Though it makes no real difference as the van falls into darkness with only a synched breathing, the gentle rumble of the engine, and the distant rattling in the back to keep him company.
A chill runs down his spine as his hands tighten on the wheel. He faces forth, unwavering, driving in complete darkness. The headlights light up nothing ahead of them, and the few lights inside dim.
Etho is not sure how long he has been driving in this state—for minutes or hours, time melting together in his exhaustion and sudden awareness, making a mess of his usually sharp mind. His breath is hot against his mask, burning against his skin, almost suffocating enough to tug it off. He knows better, so he just presses his lips together tight, then catches his bottom lip between his teeth—the pain keeps him aware, awake, but the thundering of his heart makes him tremble.
The bed creaks behind him.
And it sounds reassuring.
Just as he is ready to call it a night, pull the blinds and raise the coverings, and head to sleep, a flicker of light catches on the corners of his eyes. Lighting in the middle of a storm, with rumbling in the form of an electric buzzing he can feel from within. Although he knows better than to check it out, he swats the turn signals lever and begins to slowly turn towards the flicker of light.
The van inches to it slower than it should, unsure if anyone could be behind him. Although he had not seen anyone miles back, he could never be sure inside the storm.
It clears some as they approach, until he enters the ‘safe zone’ and finally regains some vision.
A gas station, not at all run-down but it has definitely seen better days. Though with the way things are, he wonders if it ever had.
When the van and engine come to a stop, he throws himself back onto his seat, closing his eyes as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. With practice, he pinches the fabric of his mask by the bridge of his nose, fixing it onto his face. Exhaustion sinks into his bones, dragging them down slightly before he opens his eyes, seeing the storm swirling outside of the safe zone, sparking on the edges.
There is a quiet groan behind him, prompting him to sit up and turn around, perching his arm on the backrest to see the silhouettes and shadows shifting around before something emerged—slowly, Tango sits up, rubbing his eye with indistinct mumbling.
“We there?” Tango asks with a quieter grumble.
With a simple word, Etho has Tango’s awakened attention: “Storm.”
While Etho undoes his belt, Tango gently nudges Pearl awake, the pair slowly waking and stretching their limbs. Etho sees them in the rear-view mirror, groggy expressions and confusion. They pry the blankets from each other, leaving them to shiver in the sudden chill.
“I’m gonna go inside,” Etho announces, softly, hoping they would go back to sleep. Instead, they stretch their limbs, inching closer to the edge of the bed, looking around ditzy for coats. “You don’t have to.”
Pearl yawns big, lips curved into a smile. “Whaddaya mean, Etho?”
Though playful, Etho wishes they would go back to sleep. He shakes his head, deciding to not fight them, knowing better. It comes with the years, he supposes, learning which battles to fight and which to fold—this one, he decides as he steps out of the van onto jelly legs, is not a worthwhile fight. Something else zaps the playfulness, making the hairs from his arm raise—the electricity in the air.
He takes a step forth and closes the door, waiting for the other two to make their way around. With slapping bunny slippers and a copper throw-blanket on his shoulders, Tango gets there first—his features are sharper and heat emanates from his paler skin, dark eyes with a white dots for pupils, sharp teeth flash when he yawns, and his claws poke when he pulls his blanket tighter on himself. Not too far behind, Pearl bounces over like a shadow to Tango, like him, still in her pajamas—there is a certain sparkle to her, like a mist of stars around her, and a waxing crescent moon covers the left side of her face.
Etho pinches his mask then gestures to them to walk.
A bell dings when the doors slide open at Etho’s approach, but the other two walk in first. He spares a glance to the van, to the storm behind it, surrounding them before making his way inside too. He follows the same path as the other two, down the same aisle with items he does not particularly care about. Above the shelves and between the items, he cannot help looking outside.
“How many snacks do we need?” Pearl asks first in their line.
Tango chuckles, grabbing another bag of bacon-flavored chips, “All.”
On the third aisle, though, Etho finally pries his eyes to the pair in front of him. Tango has taken steps closer to Pearl, both of them carrying snacks by the armful, comparing their treasure. They beam with childish grins and giggles, pride in their faces. He smiles, smitten and fondly while they juggle their things.
“There were baskets,” he says as he approaches. He slides his hands into his pockets, spinning the keyring with his thumb.
“Yeah, but,” Tango laughs, spinning to face him with a smile, flashing those sharp teeth, “self-control! Can only get as much as you can carry!”
Behind him, Pearl grins, a strand of brown hairs falling to her face but her hands are busy. She tries to flip it back, only for it to fall forward again—Etho steps around Tango, reaching out a hand to tuck her hair back, lightly touching her star-tingling skin. She smiles at him, and he returns a nod before gesturing to the counter with his head.
“Not getting anything?” Tango asks, bumping Etho’s arm with his shoulder with a smile of his own. Etho can see his eyes, dark but the same as he knows him, all this time. “C’mon, get something. Treat yourself! Energy drink, probably.”
“With my money?”
Tango turns to Pearl, his smirk reflected on her first quarter, the twinkling stars on her bright eyes. In sync, they reply: “Of course.”
Etho huffs, flicking his wrist to the counter. The pair giggle away as he follows, eyeing whatever items are on the way. The words are barely readable, and the images are melted together into a goop of colors—not appetizing, but he cannot really judge what they decide to get.
As they drop their treasures into the counter, Etho tosses a bag of strawberry looking sweets. He stays near while the other two shuffle away to the fridges and drink stands. In the meantime, Etho looks up, the attendant walking out from the back. An ordinary person, at first glance, but he keeps his eyes on them, the joy gone as his eyes sharpen.
No words are exchanged between them, only uninterest glances and judging eye-rolls, as the attendant scans the items. The dings echo loudly against the buzzing of the lights above them, only now becoming loud. Tension fizzles in the air, zapping the exposed skin on his face.
“Oh, these too.” Pearl brings over a case of fizzy cans, pushing some of the bags over. The attendant looks up to Pearl’s bright smile, only holding eye-contact for a moment before Etho grabs her elbow lightly. She looks back at him, a waxing gibbous, with a smile.
“Get your snacks.” Etho rolls his eyes, but there is too much fondness behind it—even then, Pearl knows him better. She just smiles and complies, Tango behind her to grab the rest.
They talk behind him, about their lengthy travel, while he tosses some bills on the counter after glancing at the total. Still, no words are exchanged, not that he cares for conversation—not when there is something off about them, not that he cares to know details.
He grabs the case of drinks and the change, pushing the other two out, feeling the eyes on his back. The doors open before they get close to it, a cold breeze rushing in, then a shadow turning to the left as they had. Then one more shadow, and finally another. Following the path they had taken, down to Etho’s pauses. Pearl and Tango pay no attention to it, but Etho eyes it, glancing to the mirror on the corner of the store, watching the shadows move.
They make their way back to the van, emptying their newly acquired goodies into a basket. Etho goes back on the driver seat, kicking the engine on to pull out of the gas station—back into the storm.
It takes a moment for them to settle, Etho notices—going from animated conversations back to yawns, until Tango is falling against Pearl, both of them returning to slumber. Not laying down, Etho sees through the mirror, so he finally makes the decision, pulling to the side of the road, still surrounded by the storm, and turns the dim lights above.
He works quickly, pulling the blinds of the seat windows before covering the windshield. A different kind of darkness surrounds him then, something warmer and more familiar. Carefully, he climbs to the back, shrugging his jacket to drape on the front seats.
Kneeling on the edge of the bed, just admiring the other two, he is overcome with a sense of belonging. All warm and safe and right. He thinks about mentioning it to them one day, but decides against it for now—something to ponder later on those quiet nights when he has nothing but his thoughts. For now, though, he gently tugs them to lay down, tucking them in.
He pulls Tango’s shirt to cover his stomach. And he tucks Pearl’s hair back again. They are mostly back to normal now, their features softening but not losing any of their spark and warmth. He takes his mask off as he watches them, sighing in relief and content.
Pitter-patter touches the roof and his side of the van, like little knocks but Etho pays them no attention—choosing to lay down instead, facing the ceiling with an arm behind his head. Slowly, the lights turn off, and he counts the seconds on the timer as his breathing slows, matching the soft snoring beside him.
And when he finally closes his eyes, he drifts off quickly, sleeping with the soft knowledge that he will wake up safe in their arms too.
For wip tag game: I'm interested in literally everything you write at this point, but gnawing sounds like a mood today
(Or dead men walking! Saw your art of Etho and Scar from it a while back and have been intrigued ever since)
hi taiga!! (:
gnawing... i haven't heard that name in years... (months)
I actually can't take too much credit for this one, but I wanted to write something for @wasyago's trail gone cold au!! the art is amazing and the concept of a horrific caving expedition having permanent and supernatural effects on them is exactly my cup of tea.
it occupied a large part of my brain space for a looonnngggg time, but I haven't quite figured out a way I want to format and unfold the story yet. I can share a bit of what I was last working with to experiment:
I like the idea of the fic being divided between transcribed audio tapes that detail the actual cave expedition that led Etho to his present day troubles, which would be written more traditionally:
