The Luck Of Yesterday [A Hermitcraft fanfic](Being rewritten)

[Not a chapter but also technically a chapter](please read)

A/N: Oooh boy, it's been a while hasn't it??
Unfortunately I'm not continuing this story anymore,
The direction I've written with it no longer fits with how I want the story to go,
Fortunately!! I'm actually rewriting this story!!

It's been several years since this story started, and my writing has 'hopefully' improved a lot,
For the last year or so I have been solely posting on Ao3, and while doing that I've come to the conclusion that I can write this story even just a little better,
Thus, I've rewritten this story , fitting it in between Season 8 and Season 9 instead of the end of Season 6,
I will be posting the rewrite on Ao3, but if enough people are wanting me to I will also post the story here on Wattpad,
As a Thankyou for reading this far I'll give you guys the prologue to the story here, if you're willing to read it please tell me what you think!!
Thank you guys for your support,
It means so much to me,

———

The Void hummed,
It's breath stuttering as it's cool hands traced over the intrusions.
Nothing made it long in the Void, at least, nothing that needed breath and blood, so, if the Void found it in itself to, ever, simulate an emotion, confusion would be at the top of its list.
As it is, the said intrusions remained unaware of the Void's blight, their fingers intertwined in a white knuckled grip, pale, off white, armour the only protection against the vast nothingness bearing down on them.

Unbeknownst to the Void, the group of being was known as the Boatem Crew, the same beings that for the past year had been casting many things into the Voids depths, Goats, Llamas, even their own selves as if some form of odd sacrifice.
Nevertheless of who or what, the Void wasn't overly concerned about their presence, just a speck of colour in the endless ichor.

Grian, his wings fluffed, pressing against his back, at the familiar tug of the lovecraftian Void, huffed. Having spent more time in both the 'void' and the 'Void' then any regular player, burning magic enabling his addiction with the living nothingness, was privy to the Voids feelings and thoughts.
The last time he had traveled between worlds via the abyss, it had been a lot more disgruntled, complaining about the litter that took form of a rocket of Diamonds he and the other Architects left in its depths from Season Six, even now, as they head to season nine, the avian doubts they'll ever collect it.

Glancing around at the others, he smiled, eyes catching Scar's as the man avidly explains how they'll arrive in the next season, next world.
If not for the sudden development of the moon's disposition, Grian is sure, Xisuma would have organised for the more offical transportation, the clean cut portal customarily used for seasonal updates.
Even then, Grian muses, he would have taken the Void. He would have brought Pearl along with him.
None of other hermits either noticed or cared enough to point out how the red-clad Avian hadn't used a single update portal, every season taking the objectively more dangerous path, risking certain death via the void.
Pearl would understand, but neither of the ex-Evolutionists felt like explaining the reasoning behind the vitriol towards the acidic purple that gave and took as it pleased.

Leaning back, Grian absentmindedly fiddled with Mumbo's course hands, redstone dust spreading between the two instantaneously.
"So, Mr Jumboleo," the helmet warped his voice, but the cheer and foe tease carried easily amongst the group,
"Now that we're moving to a new world, what's your stance on peace, love and pants?"
He grinned at the huff,
"Plants. And I'm warning you now Grian, if you flood with my base with trees again I will feed you to a Drowned."
Impulse laughed, his voice hearty,
"Wasn't that his entire introduction to HermitCraft though? I could hear G-man complaining... and oddly singing, about Drowned from the other side of the shopping district for the first few weeks."
"Well he'll be singing about me then!"
"Already do Potato boy" the sound of a hand lightly whacking a helmet filled the space.